


Proserpina

by flutterflap



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Christian Extremism, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cults, Deckerstar Big Bang 2019, F/M, Fluff, Hades and Persephone, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Post-3x24, Supernatural Elements, Whump, Wings, casefic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-10-29 18:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flutterflap/pseuds/flutterflap
Summary: After Chloe sees Lucifer's devil face, they both just want to get back to something resembling normal while they investigate a murder related to a cult. Meanwhile, Cain may be in Hell, but he hasn't given up on trying to make Chloe his--whatever it takes.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the 2019 Deckerstar Big Bang, with amazing illustrations by [swankkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swankkat/pseuds/swankkat). I'm so excited to have her artwork accompanying my fic! Her title art is below, with more to come.

* * *

Satisfaction settled in Lucifer’s chest as he watched Cain expire, the knowledge that he would be punished for another eternity in Hell licking through him like a flame. He smiled.

“You can’t escape who you really are,” he told the dying man.

Cain’s mouth stretched in a thin line. He let out a strangled laugh. “Neither can you,” he gasped. The light faded from his eyes and his body went slack.

Lucifer gazed down at the dead man. _I never wanted to._

A step sounded behind him, its muffled echo disappearing into the dome above, and Lucifer straightened, turning. It was Chloe, of course she had followed him. His chest tightened at the sight of her. Her eyes were wide, her face pale, her gaze darting from the bloody feathers littering the floor around them to Cain’s body at his feet to Lucifer’s face. Her lips moved. It took a moment for her words to reach his ears:

“It’s all true.”

_All true._ She believed.

Finally, she believed. She knew the truth.

The first thing he felt was relief.

“Detective?” He reached for her, but froze when he caught sight of the raw red flesh of his hand. He touched his face, felt the ridged skin under his fingers, the hairless scalp, and when he looked at her again he recognized the expression on her face.

Terror. Horror.

It was the terror, the horror of a woman who was seeing the Devil. The look he had never wanted to see on her face, and so he had made excuses, stalled, deflected, and she had made him feel less and less like a monster every day, but now—

_You can’t escape who you really are._

A monster.

Chloe was the most deeply _good_ person he’d ever known, and he didn’t deserve her. More to the point, _she_ didn’t deserve _him_, didn’t deserve the horror this form inspired, just as his other one sparked desire.

He turned away, hiding his ravaged face from her. He couldn’t bear to see her fear him, couldn’t bear to watch her run away. 

So he didn’t give her the chance.

***

It was dark by the time Chloe got to the penthouse. SWAT had swarmed in after Lucifer left, and it had been hours before she could make her escape with injuries seen to and statements given. She’d felt dazed, grateful for Dan’s presence as the SWAT team and paramedics peppered her with questions. All she could see was Lucifer’s face. She had read the fear and anguish in his expression even through the burned, disfigured features and fiery red eyes, but couldn’t move to go to him, couldn’t make her body obey her as her brain shorted out, unable to process what she had known for so long, what she had been afraid to let herself know.

_It’s all true. All true_. 

Lucifer was playing the piano when she got there. If he heard the elevator chime, he gave no sign, just kept playing, his head bowed, barely moving except for his hands on the keys. His skin was still raw, angry red. Chloe couldn’t tell if the music spilling from the piano was soothing him or pushing him deeper into darkness. The last notes faded to silence and he remained where he was, hands resting on the keys. His cigarette case lay open in front of him, a drink and a lighter beside it, but he made no move to reach for them.

She stepped deliberately loud as she crossed the floor. He stiffened at the sound. She had intended to go to him, to slide onto the piano bench beside him, but seeing him again, in this form, made her freeze before she could cross the penthouse.

He was the Devil. The Devil was real.

And she had--what, followed him? She should have run in the opposite direction, grabbed Trixie and gotten as far away from L.A. as she could--

“You shouldn’t have come, Detective.” The familiar sound of his voice, rough with emotion, cut through her escalating panic. She stared at him, the familiar lines of his shoulders still the same, his head bowed and-- 

She was afraid, afraid of what it all meant, the _vastness _of the truth, but—not of him.

She couldn’t be afraid of him.

She didn’t _want_ to be.

“Why not?” She crossed to the piano and sat on the edge of the bench, telling herself it was because she wanted to give him his space, not because she was afraid to get too close. She slid her fingers over the keys in front of her, skating near his hand but not touching it.

“You shouldn’t see me like this.”

She forced herself to look at him. He kept his face turned away, but she could still see the red glow of his eyes. “Isn’t this what you’ve been trying to show me? All this time?”

He slid off the other end of the bench, picked up his drink from the piano and walked to the open door onto the balcony. “I wanted you to know the truth. I—I hoped—but—” The glass trembled in his hand. “I’m a monster, Detective. Cain was right. I can’t escape who I really am, any more than he can.”

She barked a humorless laugh. _Cain. _She had almost married humanity’s first murderer. Aloud she said, “He doesn’t know who you are.”

He didn’t respond, just hunched his shoulders and sipped his whiskey, his posture stubborn and sad.

She followed him to the balcony. “You’re not a monster,” she insisted, despite what stood before her. “I told you, not to me.” 

He shook his head. “Detective . . .” 

She came close enough to touch him, her hand trembling. He flinched but didn’t pull away. His skin felt hot and rough under her fingers, eyes glowing like coals in the fading light, but underneath it all, he was still _him_. “I still see _you_.”

“You do?” He asked the question with such innocence, such vulnerability, it squeezed her heart.

She nodded. “Yes.” Was it her imagination, or was the glow fading from his eyes? She cupped his cheek, no longer afraid. “You could never be a monster to me, Lucifer.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes closing, and suddenly the skin under Chloe’s fingers was pale again, rough with stubble instead of scar tissue, warm instead of feverishly hot. He let out a choked sob, swaying on his feet.

“It’s all right,” she said. She wrapped an arm around his waist, trying to guide him toward the couch, but he steadied himself with a hand on the door frame and wouldn’t budge.

“I’m fine,” he said, but she could tell from the way he held himself that he was in pain—though not from any injuries she could see. His suit was torn and bloody, but the skin underneath was smooth, unbroken. 

Except—

Bloody feathers everywhere. His arms around her, his screams.

“Your wings.” She managed not to trip over the word. 

“I’m fine, Detective,” he insisted.

She gave him a little shove to make him turn and ran a hand over his back. He winced. “Show me,” she ordered.

“Detective—”

“_Show me._”

A long, tense pause. Finally he let out a breath. “Very well.” He gestured her back, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and gritted his teeth. A breeze ruffled Chloe’s hair.

White wings unfurled from his back, enormous and dazzling, even ragged and stained with blood as they were. He swallowed another cry. His fingertips were white against the door frame, gripping hard.

“Oh, Lucifer,” Chloe breathed.

He gave her a tight smile over his shoulder. “They’ll heal.” His eyes focused on her, and the smile softened. “It was worth it.” He shuddered, then, and the wings folded in on themselves and vanished, leaving him pale and winded, leaning against the open door.

“Wait!” Chloe raised a hand in protest. “They need--I mean--you--” She had intended--she didn’t know what. Help him, clean the wounds, remove the bullets, _something._ Not that she knew the first thing about how to take care of injured angel wings. Or any kind of wings.

“They’re healing,” Lucifer said. “They heal faster when they’re . . . away. It’s best if you leave them be.” He paused. “Leave me be.”

Chloe snorted. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Detective--”

She waved his protest away. “I’ll take your word that you know what you’re talking about where your wings are concerned, but I’m not about to leave _you_ be.” She beckoned. “Now come on.”

“‘Come on’?”

“Bed. Maybe a shower first.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “You’ll feel better if you’re clean. Do you think you can manage it?”

“I . . .” He trailed off, looking at her quizzically. A hint of cautious humor flickered in his eyes. “Are you offering to take a shower with me, Detective?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get any ideas.”

A smile pulled at his lips, but there was something raw and vulnerable behind it, something like hope, or wonder. He let her take his hand.

***

Hell is not what Cain imagined.

He had endured a hell on earth, thousands of years watching everything he came to love crumble to dust, searching in vain for the thing that could redeem him. Trying to hold himself separate so he couldn’t be hurt, and succeeding, until something came along that drew him in despite himself.

He stopped trying to be better, to be good. He became the thing God had made him, and took human life with impunity, when it suited him. Took what he wanted, and didn’t give a damn, because he had been damned for so very long, and nothing could change that.

Until Chloe. Until he loved her enough to put her before himself. And still, she turned away from him.

And that was his Hell. Not the endless wandering, the loneliness, the boredom. It was the day she gave him back his ring. He had gotten _better_ for her, and it wasn’t enough. 

With every repetition, his rage grew. No one said no to him. No one left him. Not even in death.

Hell was a prison, but even prisons had doors.

One way or another, here or on Earth, he would have Chloe Decker.


	2. Chapter 2

It was just a normal day. Never mind that her partner was the Devil, and she had almost married the world’s first murderer. Everything was fine.

Completely normal. Just an ordinary day at a crime scene with her partner.

The funny thing was, Chloe didn’t even need to work very hard to convince herself of that. Being with Lucifer _felt_ normal. Or if not normal, then . . . right. Which was frightening in and of itself, because how could _solving crimes with the Devil_ be something she could accept so easily? And yet, here she was. He was who he had always been, and it was easier to dive back into work, to act normal because then she’d _feel_ normal, and work meant being with Lucifer without all the complications of everything else.

Their first case back, since Pierce, since everything, since she’d finally faced the truth.

He lifted the crime scene tape at the entrance to the beach and they both ducked under it, Chloe flashing her badge to the officers as she passed. Ella knelt beside two bodies that had been hauled up onto the beach in the shade of the pier. She glanced up and grinned when she heard them approach. “Lucifer!” She dropped her camera on its strap around her neck and sprang up to enfold Lucifer in a hug. Chloe felt a smile tug at her lips as Lucifer awkwardly patted her back, looking like he wanted to return the hug and run the other way at the same time. “It’s so good to see you!” Ella said as she pulled away. “The precinct hasn’t been the same without you.”

Lucifer tugged at his suit, embarrassed and pleased. “It hasn’t been that long, Miss Lopez.”

“A whole month!” It should have been longer, but the brass were eager to sweep Pierce and the Sinnerman under the rug as quickly and quietly as possible. There was nominally an ongoing investigation, but Chloe doubted it would amount to much--and what mattered was that she and Lucifer had been cleared of any wrongdoing, and could get back to work.

Ella turned her grin on Chloe and pulled her into a hug as well. Chloe returned it warmly. “So,” she said when she released her. “What do we have?”

“Double murder,” Ella said, her smile turning to a grimace as she turned to the bodies. It was a man and a woman, handcuffed together, their skin grayish and bloated from the water. Their clothes looked threadbare and secondhand, too large on both of their thin frames.

“Someone wanted to make sure they stayed together.” Lucifer inclined his head toward the glint of the cuffs.

“Yeah, pretty messed up,” Ella agreed.

“Looks like a punishment to me,” Lucifer said darkly.

Chloe glanced sharply at him. “Maybe.” She squatted beside Ella to get a closer look. “Do we have cause of death?” she asked.

Ella shook her head. “Looks like drowning, but we’ll have to wait for the ME to know for sure.” She bounced back to her feet. “But this isn’t the really interesting part.”

“It’s not?”

Ella shook her head and started up the beach, beckoning them to follow. “It’s at the end of the pier. Come on.”

***

A small group of people had gathered near the crime scene tape at the bottom of the pier, peering past it and murmuring among themselves about what might have happened. Lucifer ignored them and followed Chloe and Ella to the end of the pier. A shack housed a small concessions stand near the center, but it was what was beyond that drew his eye--and not only because it was swarming with cops.

A large pentacle had been painted on the concrete, surrounded by arcane symbols he didn’t recognize, in a rusty color that the lab would almost certainly verify as blood. 

“Shit,” Chloe murmured beside him.

“Indeed.” He felt compelled to add, “It’s nothing to do with me.”

Chloe glanced at him. Her hand brushed his elbow. “I know.”

He relaxed slightly. “Oh. All right.”

“Is it anything you recognize?” Chloe asked.

He shrugged. “It’s a pretty generic symbol of the satanic, Detective. Not to mention a dozen other religions and cults. At least.”

She hummed her agreement.

They walked around the circle surrounding the five-pointed star. “Whoever did this didn’t care very much about concealing the evidence of their crime,” Lucifer remarked.

“No.” Chloe squatted down near one of the points to get a closer look. “More like they wanted it to be found. Like they were proud of what they’d done.” She stood up and peered back toward the beach, where more people had gathered beyond the crime scene tape.

Lucifer followed her gaze. “What are you thinking, Detective?”

She glanced back at him, her expression grim. “That they might have come back to admire their handiwork.”

Lucifer smiled. “Clever Detective,” he said, and followed her back down the pier.

***

This was her fault. 

From where she stood in the crowd Agnes could barely make out the bodies on the beach, but she didn’t need to see much. She knew this place. Devil’s Gate, they used to call it, on account of the rock bridge that had extended from the nearby bluffs--and other reasons.

It was a message. For her.

The pier was blocked off, but she knew the markings that would be on its far end.

_Come home_, it said. Not in so many words, but the meaning was clear.

_Come home, and we may be merciful._

And a part of her wanted to, because a part of her still believed. She had tried, so hard, to live up to the name she’d been given, to be _good_. She had been honored to be chosen by Shepherd and kept herself pure for him. He was kind and gentle and her children would usher in a new world.

But behind closed doors he had been different. He had hurt her, and blamed her when first one, then another, and a third pregnancy ended before her belly began to round. She still bled from the last, but she didn’t mourn this child as she had the first. It was a mercy that it wouldn’t be brought into Shepherd’s world.

She couldn’t go back to him, no matter how she mourned the loss of her family, the only life she’d ever known. No matter how terrifying the world outside was, she had to stay strong.

Her gaze drifted to the beach again, where two long black bags were being loaded onto stretchers. _My fault._

But she hadn’t done it herself. Could it really be her fault, if someone else was willing to commit murder to frighten her? If she knew they would do it again, did she have a duty to stop it?

What if stopping it meant sacrificing herself?

Movement near the police tape caught her eye. Two of the detectives she had seen earlier, a tall handsome man and a woman with long blonde hair, were standing just inside it and scanning the crowd intently. Her heart stuttered up into her throat. Surely they couldn’t know she was there, know the deaths were because of her? But maybe they only needed to look at her to know. Agnes pulled her hood closer over her face and backed away, trying to hide among the people gathered around her and slip away unnoticed.

She thought she’d managed it when she bumped into someone and a hand grasped her elbow. She looked up into a terrifyingly familiar face. A scream escaped her, and she stomped on his foot and bolted in the opposite direction as soon his grip on her arm loosened. 

A voice yelled, “Stop! Police!” followed by a commotion and pounding footsteps behind her. Agnes ran blindly, with no direction in mind except _away_. Her pursuer kept pace, but Agnes kept running even though she knew just as well that she wouldn’t get away. 

She rounded a corner and skidded to a halt just short of a chain link fence that cut the alley off. She whirled around, gasping for breath, trembling. The woman detective stood there, hands up and palms out towards her, also breathing hard. “Hey.” Her voice was low, soothing. She took a cautious step towards her. Agnes backed away warily. “I’m with the police, I’m not going to hurt you.” One hand dropped to her hip and she tugged the hem of her shirt back to display the badge clipped to the waistband of her jeans.

The assurance was bewildering. Agnes raised her hands, mirroring the detective. “Am I--am I under arrest?”

The detective took another step toward her. “Why do you think you’re under arrest?”

Agnes’s vision blurred. “Because.” She gulped down the sob that rose in her throat. “It’s my fault. They’re dead because of me.”

***

Chloe placed a glass of water on the interview room table in front of the girl and took the seat beside Lucifer. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?” she asked.

The girl--Agnes--shook her head and gulped down some of the water. She wiped her chin with the dirty sleeve of her oversized sweatshirt. She was young, Chloe thought--probably not as young as she looked, but no more than nineteen or twenty. She had the exhausted look of someone who had been very afraid, for a very long time. Lucifer had gone after the man who had tried to grab her, but he’d had a driver waiting, and managed to get to the unmarked van before Lucifer had caught up with him.

“Are you up to answering a few questions?” Chloe asked. 

She nodded. She hadn’t spoken a word since she’d said that the murders were her fault.

Chloe nodded back and gave her the most reassuring smile she could. “Thank you..” She didn’t think for a second that this girl was to blame for the murders, but it was clear she knew _something. _She took out her notepad and pen. “Agnes. What’s your last name?”

The girl blinked. “I--I don’t--have one,” she stammered.

Chloe blinked in surprise, but she just made a note and moved on. That small mystery would have to wait. “Why were you at the pier this morning?”

“I was checking.”

“Checking?”

“They said they would send me a message. At the Devil’s Gate.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “‘The Devil’s Gate’?”

“It’s what they used to call Belmont Pier,” Chloe said, keeping her eyes on Agnes. “What kind of message?”

“A warning.” She picked up the glass in a trembling hand and took another few sips. “He--they--want me back.”

“Who?”

“Shepherd.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “The Order.”

“What’s the Order?”

Agnes looked blank at the question.

“A church?” Chloe hazarded.

“It’s the Order,” she replied, as if that explained it.

“There’s no other name? It’s not short for anything?”

A hesitation. “Children of the New Order.” Chloe glanced up from her notepad to see Agnes looking wide-eyed and white-faced. She swallowed hard. “I’m not supposed to say the whole name. But--” She licked her lips and sat up straighter. “I don’t belong to them anymore.”

The assertion made Chloe’s stomach clench. She glanced at Lucifer and saw her alarm mirrored in his eyes, backed by smoldering anger.

Chloe turned back to Agnes. “You don’t belong to anyone but yourself. We’ll keep you safe, okay?”

Agnes nodded, though she looked unconvinced.

“Who’s Shepherd?” Chloe asked.

“My--my husband.” Her mouth twisted, as though the word was distasteful. 

Chloe’s swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. “Does he have a last name? Or another name that he uses?”

Agnes shook her head. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“And you think the murders were the message?”

She nodded, hugging herself. “There were symbols on the pier, weren’t there?” she whispered. She didn’t give Chloe time to reply before she continued, “They’re there to make sure they go to Hell.”

Lucifer stiffened beside her. Chloe cut a questioning glance toward him. Was that possible? He gave the barest shake of his head, a gesture that Chloe couldn’t interpret. She bit back her frustration. The problem with knowing some of the secrets of the universe was realizing that she still didn’t know the _right_ ones. Even Lucifer, with his thousands of years of knowledge, might not know.

“What kind of symbols?” she asked Agnes. She couldn’t have seen them from the bottom of the pier. _Had_ she had something to do with the murders? Looking at her, Chloe couldn’t imagine this frightened child taking part in something like that, but she’d been fooled before.

“Devil symbols.” Agnes’s eyes darted to Lucifer, who drew himself up.

“I told you, Detective, it’s nothing to do with me!”

Chloe put a hand on his arm. “I know.”

“He showed them to me once,” Agnes went on. “He said an angel taught them to him.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. “Who?” he demanded, leaning toward her. “What was his name?”

Agnes shrank from him. “I--I don’t know,” she stammered.

Chloe pulled him back into his seat. “Not now, Lucifer.”

He turned his scowl on her. “Detective! One of my siblings is--”

_“Not now.”_ She cut him off, and after a moment he subsided with a grumble and sat back, folding his arms across his chest.

“Do you know who the victims are?” Chloe asked, refocusing on the girl sitting across from her.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see them.” She hugged herself harder, hunching down in her seat.

“I know this is hard, but if I showed you some pictures, could you tell me if you recognize them?”

Another nod, but instead of answering she let out a groan and hunched over. Her face had gone even paler than before, white to the lips and covered with a pale sheen of sweat. Alarmed, Chloe got to her feet, moving around the table. “What’s wrong?”

“My stomach hurts.”

Chloe smelled the coppery tang of blood just before she saw it, soaking Agnes’s jeans. “Shit.” She dropped to her knees, catching the girl before she toppled over. Lucifer appeared beside her and together they lowered Agnes from the chair and lay her on the floor, half in Lucifer’s lap.

“We need an ambulance in here!” Chloe yelled in the general direction of the two-way glass. “Agnes? Hey, look at me.” She patted the girl down, looking for a wound and finding none. “What happened? Where are you hurt?”

She whimpered, trying to curl up. “My baby.” A strangled sob. “He punished me--because--I couldn’t have a baby.”

Chloe hadn’t thought she could hate the man more, but her gut twisted even tighter. “Don’t worry, you’re going to be okay.” She smoothed Agnes’s hair, trying to reassure her. _And I’m going to find the asshole that did this,_ she added silently.

To Lucifer she said, “Elevate her legs,” and moved the chair closer so she could prop the girl’s legs on it. Lucifer took off his jacket and put it under her head.

Voices and pounding feet came in from the hallway. Dan burst through the door a moment later, wild-eyed and panicked. “Chloe?”

“I’m fine.”

He turned to Lucifer, panic flashing to anger and distrust. “What did you do?” 

“What did _I_ do?” Agnes moaned and Lucifer lowered his voice, a hand dropping to her forehead in a soothing gesture. “I didn’t do anything!” he hissed.

Dan’s lip curled. “No. That’s the problem. You’re useless.”

Lucifer drew breath sharply, his eyes blazing--though thankfully, not red.

“Dan!” Chloe grabbed his elbow and steered him toward the door before Lucifer could lose it completely. “Go find some blankets, we need to keep her warm until they get here. And pull yourself together.”

Lucifer glared after him, breathing hard. Chloe knelt beside him and touched his arm. “Is there anything you can do?” she asked, her voice low.

Lucifer’s expression stayed hard and closed off for a moment, then softened to confusion. “What?”

“You know.” Chloe gestured vaguely skyward and lowered her voice even further. “With your . . . powers?” 

“Oh.” He looked away, his gaze falling to the girl lying beside him. Even in his anger with Dan, his hands supporting her had remained gentle. “No. Healing--that’s more my brother Raphael’s thing.”

“It’s okay.” Chloe touched his arm again, then took Agnes’s hand and squeezed. Her eyes fluttered open, glassy with pain. “Medics are on the way, okay? Hold on, just a few minutes.” She whimpered in response.

Dan came back with an armful of clean towels from the precinct gym and spread them over her. He glared at Lucifer, who pretended not to notice.

Agnes was nearly unconscious by the time the medics got there. When they had bundled her onto a stretcher and wheeled her away, Chloe found Lucifer still in the interview room, his gaze still following the path the medics had taken out of the precinct. She touched his arm. “Hey.”

He glanced down at her.

“You okay?”

He gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Fine.”

She didn’t bother to hide her skepticism. 

After a moment he said, “Daniel seems to think I wouldn’t hesitate to hurt an innocent.” Someone who didn’t know him like she did wouldn’t have noticed, but Chloe heard the hurt in his voice. “_And_ he thinks I would do it right in the middle of the precinct.” He glanced at Chloe. “Right in front of _you_.”

Chloe sighed. “Dan’s being an idiot. He’s hurting and he’s lashing out. I’ll talk to him.”

“He’s not your responsibility, Detective.”

“No,” Chloe agreed. After a moment she added, “There was nothing else we could do.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Chloe sighed. “Go on home.” She patted his arm. “It’s getting late, and we can’t do anything else today.”

***

Chloe watched him go, an ache in her throat--for him, for herself, for Agnes. _Some first day back_, she thought. 

Across the room, she caught sight of Dan crossing the precinct floor and frowned. His behavior might not be her responsibility, but she wasn’t about to let it go, either.

“Dan.” Chloe grabbed his arm and pulled him into the lounge. “What the hell was that back there?” 

Her jerked out of her grasp. “What?”

“You know.” She folded her arms. “I know you’re angry, but you can’t keep blaming Lucifer for--for Charlotte. It wasn’t his fault.”

“The hell it wasn’t!” Dan’s voice was loud enough to startle an officer passing in the hall outside, and he glanced in the window at them. Dan continued in a hiss, “He _knew_, Chloe! He _knew_ who Pierce was, and he didn’t say! I don’t see how you can work with him, knowing--how can you _trust_ him?”

But that was just the thing, wasn’t it? She sighed. “He did say something, Dan. To me. I didn’t believe him.”

Dan went very still. His lips moved slightly, as though he were arguing with himself, and then he shook his head. “No.” Another shake of his head, short jerky movements. “You don’t have to keep defending him, Chloe.”

“He did, Dan. It was all mixed up in his”--she gestured--”weirdness, but I know him well enough that I should have realized he was trying to tell me something important.”

“What did he tell you, exactly?”

“That Pierce wasn’t who he said he was, and that he didn’t trust him.” Close enough to the truth. She didn’t need to tell Dan that Lucifer had sworn to her that Pierce was Cain from the Bible, and he had been telling the truth. He wouldn’t believe it any more than she had. “He told me to be careful. And I was so busy trying to make something work with him that I only saw what I wanted to see. If you’re going to blame him, then blame both of us.”

Dan stared at her for a moment, and then he sagged, all the tension leaving him. He raked a hand through his hair. “That’s not fair, Chlo. You couldn’t have known.”

“It’s just as fair as blaming him alone.”

His face screwed up mulishly, but at last relented. “Okay. Point taken.”

Chloe grabbed his hand. “I’m not saying you have to forgive him, or like him. Just . . . give him a chance. He’s doing his best. And you _can_ trust him. He’s one of the good guys, Dan, really.”

He grimaced. “I’m not sure I’d go that far. But okay. I’ll . . . try to give him a chance.”

It was probably the best she could hope for. Chloe reached out and squeezed his hand again. “Thanks.”

***

Lucifer tossed his jacket carelessly over the back of a chair and poured himself a drink. The bass was pounding downstairs at Lux, but he wasn’t in the mood. He could still feel Agnes’s weight in his lap, her body tense and face screwed up with pain and fear. His hand clenched on the glass. He tossed the whiskey back and poured himself another, taking it outside onto the balcony.

He leaned on the railing and looked out over the city. “You know,” he said conversationally, his gaze shifting up toward the sky, “some of the greatest evils I’ve seen here have been committed in _your_ name. What do you say to that, hm? And _I_ still get blamed!” He sipped his whisky, feeling it burn through the tightness in his throat and chest. “It’s a funny old universe, innit, _Dad?_”

This Shepherd, whoever he was, probably blamed Lucifer for all the evils in the world, the evils that he himself committed. Not that Lucifer particularly cared about him, except in principle--but the way Daniel had looked at him today, _assumed_ Lucifer was responsible for the girl’s pain--

A larger gulp this time, the heat spreading through him welcome. Charlotte. Daniel blamed him for Charlotte. And maybe he bore some responsibility, because he’d known who and what Marcus was, and had underestimated him, but he hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger. He hadn’t whispered in his ear. And he had kept his word to the man, and made certain he got what he deserved.

So why did he feel like the monster?

“Lucifer?” Maze’s voice filtered through the open doors. “You here?” He looked around as she stepped out onto the balcony. 

“Maze.” He didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “Come crawling back, I see.” The words didn’t hold any real venom. He wasn’t about to admit it, but he was actually glad to see her.

She shrugged and leaned on the railing beside him. “I needed some time to think.” She slanted a glance at him. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“About what? You betraying me, throwing in your lot with Cain, and trying to frame me for murder? Don’t be silly.” He paused and sipped his whiskey, reflecting. “Maybe a little. Though I suppose . . .” He mirrored her sideways glance. “You had a right to be angry with me.”

She snorted. “Maybe a little,” she agreed. “But--” She broke off. Lucifer raised an eyebrow. Maze shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Mmm.” His lips curved, amused, and he drained his glass. It was about as close to an apology as either of them was going to give. They stood in companionable silence for a few moments, and Lucifer found his mind drifting back to the case, to a particularly troubling thing the girl had said before she collapsed. “Mazikeen.” He turned to her. “Have you heard of anything that could compel a soul to Hell? Even one that’s not supposed to be there?”

Her eyes narrowed. “No. Why?”

He leaned on the railing, the empty glass cradled between his hands, and told her about the case. 

She shook her head when he’d finished. “Sounds like something this shepherd guy told his followers to scare them and keep them in line.”

“True,” he agreed. “But the fact he went so far as to commit murder suggests he believes it.”

“Maybe.” She eyed him. “So you’re back at work.”

“Yes.”

“And Chloe knows the truth.”

“Yes.”

“And . . . she’s okay with it?”

“I think . . .” Lucifer stared out over the city lights. “I think she is, yes.” _I see you_, Chloe had said, and touched his face, his Devil face, and insisted on staying with him, been worried that he was hurt. It filled him with wonder, but some part of him held back from fully believing it. She had seen him for the monster he was; how could she just accept him, after that? And she hadn’t said anything about continuing where they’d left off, the night Charlotte died. He’d been so relieved she hadn’t fled from his very presence, he was afraid to push any further. 

It was better just to work the case, to fall back into the rhythm they’d established over these last two years. Maybe after--

Maze cleared her throat, interrupting his thoughts. “D’you think--d’you think she’d be okay if I stopped over?”

He frowned. “Don’t you live there?”

“I’ve been staying with Linda.”

“Ah. Well, if it’s the spawn you want to see, I believe she’ll already be in bed. It’s quite late. But I’m sure she’d be quite pleased to see you tomorrow.”

Maze grimaced. “I’m not so sure about that.” She squared her shoulders. “You’re not the only person I owe an apology to.”

“About that.” He turned to her. “Do you still want to go back?” He hesitated. “I should have taken you when you asked. I’ll take you now, if you still want to go. Or any time you’re ready.”

“Nah.” Maze waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m over it. Humans are a lot more fun up here.” She grinned and pushed away from the railing. “Good luck with your cult!” she called over her shoulder. “And let me know if you want me to track down this shepherd guy. I love beating up a priest.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's read and commented so far! SwankKat's wonderful artwork is embedded below in the scene it references; be sure to stop by [her tumblr](https://swankkat.tumblr.com/) and let her know how amazing it is!

Surprisingly few of Hell’s doors were locked, but the one Cain wanted most he couldn’t get near. Every time he approached the Gates, he found himself back in his cell, living endless loops of Chloe turning her back on him, Chloe refusing him, _Chloe_.

He stopped trying to reach the Gates. Perhaps only a celestial being could cross that threshold, but he wasn’t completely cut off from the world above. There were places where the boundary was thin, and Cain could watch, and whisper.

He was a patient man. Eventually, he found someone who could hear, and who wanted to listen.

***

Chloe knew she should take her own advice, but instead she stayed at the precinct into the night. Trixie was at a sleepover, and the low hum of the precinct at night felt more comforting than the empty apartment. Besides, she knew she wouldn’t sleep--not for awhile, anyway, not with the details of the case swirling in her head. She might as well stay here and see what she could make of what they knew so far.

Which, unfortunately, wasn’t very much. There was a folder on her desk with the crime scene photos and preliminary forensics report. She paged through it alongside her notes, but there was no ID on their victims yet, no official cause of death. What she had was a scared girl, arcane symbols, and two obscure names. But she had to start somewhere.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and spread the photos out in front of her. Agnes had said the murders were a message, a warning meant for her. Handcuffed together, drowned, and . . . some sort of ritual performed? Agnes believed the symbols would send the victims to Hell, and Chloe could only hope that such a thing was impossible. The pentagram painted on the pier had tested positive for blood, but neither of the victims was wounded. That meant a likely third victim somewhere.

Setting that unpleasant thought aside for a moment, she pulled the photos of the victims toward her, lining them up. If the murder was a message, what was it saying? The cult wanted Agnes back, so maybe these two had left, or tried to. She tapped a finger on a close-up of their cuffed wrists.

Agnes hadn’t only fled the cult, she’d also fled a marriage with this Shepherd. That was as important to the message as the cult, Chloe was sure. Maybe she had run with someone, or to someone--or maybe Shepherd believed she had, and intended to warn her of what would happen to her and her lover if she didn’t return. Or perhaps it was a simple reminder: “till death do us part.”

She pulled her keyboard toward her and typed “Shepherd” and “Children of the New Order” into her search bar. Not surprisingly, the search didn’t turn up anything useful--nothing like a website with an address like the Satanists. She scowled at the screen for a moment, then typed “Los Angeles cults.” She might not be able to find specific information about _this_ cult, but there was plenty she could learn.

By the time she admitted, gritty-eyed and stiff-necked, that she needed to get _some _sleep tonight, Chloe knew a great deal more about cults, but was no closer to knowing how to deal with the one that had left two bodies under the pier in Long Beach and a scared girl in the hospital. She rubbed her eyes and pushed her chair back, the soft roll of the wheels sounding loud in the nearly-empty precinct, running on a skeleton crew at this hour. They’d have more to go on tomorrow. She’d only just begun.

***

After Mazikeen left, Lucifer remained outside on the balcony, troubled. Surely the symbols on the pier had been nothing more than set dressing. There was no way one human could compel another to Hell.

_Lucifer_ had been sent to Hell, banished by his father for his rebellion. Humans sent _themselves_ to Hell, drawn by their guilt to torture themselves for all eternity.

Most of the time.

Lucifer’s hands tightened on the railing. The most evil were utterly convinced of their righteousness. They harbored no regret in their souls for their crimes, but Hell took them anyway. He’d never thought to wonder how. But now that he did, he knew who to ask--if she would talk to him.

He pressed his palms together and closed his eyes. The posture wasn’t strictly necessary, but it helped him focus. A few moments later, a soft whoosh sounded, and a smaller figure stepped up to the railing beside him.

“Hey, Lulu.”

The nickname made him smile, and he relaxed a little. If she was calling him that, then she wasn’t holding a grudge. “Hello, Ray Ray.”

“It’s been awhile,” she observed, looking out over the city.

“Yes.” He hesitated. “How’ve you been?”

She shrugged. “Same old. Collecting souls, trailing darkness in my wake.” She cut a glance toward him. “_Someone_ threw my knife into another universe.”

“Ah.” He cleared his throat and didn’t look at her. “About that . . .”

She let him hang for a moment before she waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. I hated that thing. I’m glad someone did something useful with it.” She gazed off into the sky for a moment, looking wistful, before turning to face him. “What do you need?”

He looked at her blankly. “Need?”

“You called me.”

“Can’t I just want to talk to my sister?”

She rolled her eyes. “Could’ve called a few thousand years sooner.” She examined her nails, pretending indifference, but Lucifer could tell she was hurt.

“I _have_ missed you, Azrael.”

She remained stubbornly silent for another moment, but she never had been able to stay angry at him for long. She bumped her shoulder against his. “I’ve missed you, too. So. What can I do for you?”

“Right.” He took a deep breath. “Is it possible for one human to compel another’s soul to Hell?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

He recounted the details of the case to her. When he had finished she frowned, thoughtful. “Theoretically . . . I suppose it’s possible, yes.”

He scowled. “How?” He demanded. Hell was _his_ domain.

“Well.” She shrugged uncomfortably. “Demons can cross the threshold, possess human bodies--”

“I forbade that,” Lucifer broke in. “A thousand years ago.”

“You’re not there to enforce the rules, are you?” she shot back. “And that’s not the only way demons can cross the threshold. If a human summoned a demon, _theoretically_, it would be possible for a demon to pull a human soul back to Hell with it. If I wasn’t there to stop it.”

His scowl deepened. “Why do I not know this?”

She shrugged. “There are more things in heaven and earth . . .”

“_I _gave him that line.”

“I thought you might have.” She bumped his shoulder. “Don’t pout, Lulu. You’re not exactly the only one of us in the dark. Besides, it’s just a theory.”

He grimaced. “I hope you’re wrong.”

“Honestly? Me, too.”

***

***

Chloe barely glanced up when Lucifer placed the coffee cup in front of her. “Thanks,” she said distractedly.

“Have you been here all night?”

“No, I went home and slept a little.”

He dropped into the chair beside her desk. “Well, at least one of us is rested.”

She did look up then. Lucifer looked as pristine as ever, not a hair out of place or a hint of dark circles under his eyes. “Stayed up all night partying?” she guessed, and tried to ignore her sudden pang of jealousy.

“Of course not.” He looked affronted, as if that was the last thing he could have possibly been doing. He pulled the crime scene photographs she’d been looking at closer and traced the pentagram outlined on the concrete of the pier with his finger. “I thought I’d seek out an expert opinion.”

“You’re not an expert on sending people to Hell?” Chloe asked.

“I mean, usually I am. But my sister Azrael is responsible for making sure souls end up where they’re supposed to.”

“Azrael?” The name sounded familiar, but Chloe hadn’t had much in the way of a religious education.

“The angel of death.”

“Ah.” Chloe closed her mouth with a click. Just when she thought she was settling in to the truth, there was something else to knock her off balance. The angel of death. Of course there was an angel of death, and of course she was Lucifer’s sister. But it was one thing to know it and another to _know_ it.

She took a sip of her coffee, coughed, and handed it to him, eyes watering. “I think you gave me yours.”

“Hm?” He sipped his. “Oh.” He started to hand it over, then hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want it?”

She let out a laugh. “_Want _it, yes. But not while I’m working. You can pour me a whiskey later.”

A pleased smile touched his face. “You have yourself a deal, Detective.”

She smiled back before turning her attention back to the photo between them. “So. Your sister. What did she say?”

“Azrael, yes. She had a theory.” He recounted their conversation.

“So . . . there are . . . spellbooks?” Chloe asked when he had finished, skeptical. “Instruction manuals out there for summoning demons?”

“My father gave you lot free will,” Lucifer replied, as if the point were obvious. “Including the freedom to believe whatever you choose. And belief can be . . . potent.” He trailed off, suddenly distant. After a moment he shook himself and picked up the photograph. “Religious symbols of all sorts gain power, the more people believe in them.”

Chloe couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through her. She looked at the photo for a moment, then up at Lucifer. “I’m not sure it matters. For the case, I mean,” she added quickly. “People are being murdered whether or not this Shepherd guy can _actually_ send people to Hell. We know he’s a zealot.”

“Hmm. I suppose.” Lucifer was still looking at the photo, troubled. “But I doubt he came up with the idea on his own.”

Chloe shivered again. “Let’s try to track this guy down first.” She placed a hand on his arm, both offering and seeking reassurance. “Then we can explore the cosmic ramifications.”

***

It was another few days before they could talk to Agnes again. In the meantime, the two victims were identified as Grace Williams, 24, and Isaac Bell, 28. They had both been working at greasy spoon in Hollywood, he as a dishwasher and she as a hostess, which allowed them enough to pay for a tiny studio apartment and not much else. Beyond that, Chloe hadn’t been able to learn very much about them. They were quiet, worked hard, and kept to themselves, according to their boss and coworkers. The coroner’s report confirmed drowning as the cause of death, and also found ketamine in both of their systems. So: kidnapped, drugged, and drowned. She’d seen worse, but it still made her shudder.

There was one bit of good news: analysis of the blood on the pier had ruled out a third victim, at least a human one--it was goat’s blood.

“What is _with_ the goat thing?” Lucifer exclaimed when she told him, so indignant she couldn’t help laughing even though it made him glare at her. He spent the rest of the afternoon muttering ominously about what he was going to do to whoever had started the tradition of associating him with goats.

Another bit of good news arrived the next day when Chloe got to the precinct: Agnes was recovering, and was willing to talk to them. She was still in the hospital, but they could see her that afternoon.

***

The hospital room felt crowded, with the two detectives and her victim advocate all gathered around Agnes’s bed. The officers posted outside her door added to the feeling of too many unfamiliar people around her.

“I know you’ve been through a lot.” The woman detective--Chloe--took the chair by the window and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Thanks for talking to us.”

Agnes tried to smile. She fidgeted with the sheet in her lap and glanced up at the victim advocate--her name was Dianne--who nodded encouragingly. “I don’t know very much.”

“Any information you can give us would be helpful,” Chloe said, taking out her notepad. “Can you tell me anything about where the Order operates from? A headquarters, or a compound? Even if you don’t know the address, can you describe it?”

Agnes swallowed hard and nodded. “All right.” She described the complex of buildings, just out of town, how she had run from the other women on a trip into the city for groceries and other supplies, a wad of cash in her pocket. She didn’t know very much about the city, but she knew Devil’s Gate; she had gone there to be initiated as an adult into the Order, and then to marry Shepherd, always at night, always in the dark. She had a good sense of direction; she remembered where places were once she had been there once.

Chloe leaned forward, her eyes suddenly bright. “Could you tell us how to get there?”

Agnes opened her mouth, and then closed it, sudden fear clenching her belly. She was tired, and sore, and the memory of the pain and fear of the last few days made her want to curl up and hide. “They’ll know it was me,” she whispered.

Chloe pressed her lips together, trying to hide her disappointment. “We can protect you,” she said.

When Agnes didn’t answer, her partner--Lucifer, his name made Agnes want to shudder, a lifetime of fear of the devil rearing up--shot Chloe a questioning look. She gave a small nod, and before Agnes could decipher the unspoken exchange he said, “Agnes.”

Almost involuntarily, she looked up at him and was caught in his gaze. He smiled, gently, and she felt the world fall away around her, leaving her with a feeling of warmth and safety. She remembered how gentle he’d been at the police station, how he’d soothed her and not seemed to care that she got blood all over his fancy clothes. “Tell me.” He placed his hands on the bed rail at her feet and leaned forward. “What is it you desire?”

A yearning rose up in her, so strong she thought she might burst. “Freedom.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I want to be free.”

Chloe touched her arm lightly, drawing Agnes back to the present. “We can help you.” Her gaze was almost as compelling as Lucifer’s, her blue-green eyes a light to the darkness of his brown. “You can be free. But we need your help.”

Agnes looked back and forth between them. A part of her was still afraid, but a bigger part--the part that had been awakened by Lucifer’s question, the part that had dared to run--set her jaw and dug her heels in. She would be free.

She nodded. “I can take you there.”

***

The house that Agnes led them to, a sprawling Mission Revival compound, appeared empty. Chloe insisted on surveillance anyway, and so Lucifer was now bored silly, sitting in the car with her and watching the place from down the street.

“This is ridiculous,” He complained, not for the first time. “No one’s in there. Why can’t we just go?”

Chloe slanted him an annoyed look. “Just because it _looks_ empty doesn’t mean it _is._ Besides--”

“Yes, yes, procedure, I know.” He waved off the forthcoming lecture and turned his gaze back to the large house, trying to will something interesting to happen.

They lapsed into silence. After a few moments, Lucifer became aware of Chloe’s eyes on him. He looked over to find her regarding him with a thoughtful look. “What?”

“You’re awfully anxious to get this guy.”

“I don’t like people usurping my authority.”

“That’s it?”

He shrugged.

After another moment she asked, “I thought you don’t decide who goes to Hell.”

“I don’t. But Hell is _my_ domain.” That didn’t quite capture the complexity of his feelings about the matter, but he wasn’t sure he could find the words for what he really wanted to say. Hell was _his_, and this Shepherd fellow was impinging on his territory, making decisions that weren’t his to make--or Lucifer’s, or anyone’s, really, not even his father’s.

He was taking away free will, and Lucifer wouldn’t stand for that.

“Did you . . . like it?” She hesitated partway through the question, and he heard the trepidation in her voice, but he couldn’t stop the sharp look he gave her. She flinched a little, but didn’t look away.

“I’ve told you, it was a job.”

“A job you did well.”

He was the one to look away. “Yes,” he agreed, looking out the window. “But I hated it. I hated that I was good at it. I hated . . . that I liked it.” He wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone else, but he owed Chloe the truth--all of it, not just the parts he liked to tell. “I’ve seen evil you can’t imagine, Detective. And I know the kinds of things you’ve seen,” he added when she opened her mouth to object. “So, yes, I liked it. I liked seeing evildoers punished. I liked carrying it out.”

“And this guy? Shepherd?”

He thought of the frightened girl in the hospital and his hand tightened into a fist. His ring dug into his fingers. “He deserves to be punished.”

Across the way, the house remained silent and empty. Chloe sat tense beside him, her hands gripping the wheel, though the engine wasn’t running. Lucifer watched her, feeling as though he’d said exactly the wrong thing. But he wouldn’t lie, even if it confirmed all her worst thoughts about him. He didn’t come from a gentle world, even before Hell.

He’d never really known gentleness until he met Chloe.

“Detective . . .” He waited for her to look at him again, and found he needed to take a deep breath before he could speak again. “I asked you once if you were afraid of me.”

“I remember.”

“Are you now?”

She studied him for a moment that seemed interminable. Her gaze turned tender, and she gave the smallest shake of her head. “No.” She reached for him, so unexpectedly Lucifer almost flinched away before she laid a hand on his cheek. “I’ve seen your face, remember?” She had touched him like this, that day in the penthouse, touched his devil face despite her obvious fear, and somehow made him feel whole again.

“Yes.” His voice was ragged

She let her hand linger on his cheek for another moment, then withdrew it and turned her attention back to the house, her expression grim. “I want to see this guy get what’s coming to him, too,” she said. “I don’t think that makes either of us a monster.”

***

When no one had come in or out after two days of watching, and no other signs of life, Chloe agreed that the group had likely moved on and it would be safe to go in. Getting a warrant and assembling backup and forensics teams meant more waiting, so by the time they actually got in to search the house Lucifer was beyond bored.

The inside of the house wasn’t much better than the outside had been. He would have expected a cult’s hideout to have all manner of interesting things, but the place didn’t have so much as a bulletin board mapping their conspiracy theories, let alone, say, a kinky sex room. The place was distressingly ordinary.

Which in itself was odd. Ordinary people always had something odd in their homes--evidence of some secret desire pursued behind closed doors. But this place had no evidence of desire at all. It wasn’t ordinary so much as _blank_. So what was hidden beneath the facade?

“Lucifer? Hey.” Chloe caught up with him as wandered away from the main area of the house, where forensics had begun combing for evidence. She watched him open doors and peer through windows. “What are you looking for?”

“Something interesting.”

She made an exasperated noise. “I’m sorry actual police work isn’t like an action movie, Lucifer--”

“That’s not what I mean.” He stopped walking and waved a hand to take in the hallway they stood in and the house itself. “Look at this place. It’s so . . . _boring_.” She started to object again, frowning, but he gestured around them again. “Shouldn’t a cult’s headquarters have some . . . _something_?”

Her frown turned thoughtful. “I suppose,” she agreed slowly, looking around again. Agnes had been able to give them some details of the inside of the house, but her movements had been heavily restricted. She hadn’t been allowed out of the part of the house they had entered from, where the kitchen and living areas were. “We have a forensics team here for a reason,” she pointed out. “Let them do their jobs.”

He rolled his eyes. “I promise not to touch anything. I’ll even wear those little booties.” Of course, he made no move to go back for them, but continued deeper into the house, turning down a hallway that had been cleared but not yet properly searched. After a moment, Chloe muttered an annoyed curse and followed him.

“What’s down here?” He pushed a half-open door that opened onto steps that led down into darkness and peered inside. “Looks promising,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder at her.

“Wait.” Chloe grabbed his arm. He expected her to object, but she just drew her gun and pulled a small flashlight from her pocket. “Let me go first.” Pleased, he gestured for her to precede him, and followed her down the stairs.

Chloe’s flashlight revealed a bare lightbulb with a pull chain at the bottom of the stairs. It illuminated an unfinished space, partitioned with plywood boards that formed rough hallways and tiny rooms with curtains in their narrow doorways for their only privacy. Chloe twitched one curtain back as she passed and shuddered at the sight of a pallet on the floor with a thin blanket folded neatly on it--not nearly enough to ward off the damp chill. A shirt hung limply from one of a row of nails in the wall above it. “People were living down here.” She glanced over her shoulder at Lucifer. “Interesting enough for you?”

“I was hoping for a sex room,” he replied, grim. “The fun kind.” He pulled back several more curtains along the hall to reveal similar rooms. In one, a stuffed toy sat on the pallet.

“I don’t think this group approves of fun,” she murmured, peering past him at the toy.

They reached a door--not a thin curtain hung in an opening on a plywood wall, but a thick metal door set in concrete. “Maybe _that’s_ the sex room,” Lucifer said, reaching for the knob.

“Lucifer, wait, I’m calling for backup.” Chloe reached for her radio, but the lock clicked and he pushed the door open. “_Hurry up_,” she said into the radio, and followed him into the dark.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whump is here.
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who has been reading and commenting so far. I appreciate hearing from you!

The scuff of a shoe on concrete gave Lucifer an instant’s warning before the blow landed on his jaw. He smashed his arm back and up and felt the crunch of bone, a cry of pain and warm blood seeping into his sleeve. Another rustle of movement warned him in time to deflect a second blow, but a third landed with sharp, bruising force to his hip, enough to make his leg nearly buckle under him. With a growl, he heaved himself upright on his good leg and brought his head up under one assailant’s chin, knocking him back with a grunt. He jabbed his elbow and then his fist into another. Nearby he heard the scuffle of more fighting, and tried to go toward it in the faint light from Chloe’s dropped flashlight on the floor.

“Detective!” A hand grabbed him from behind and someone tried to sweep his legs from under him, but Lucifer ducked and pulled his attacker over his shoulder, slamming him to the floor. He heard the sound of grunts of blows landing that told him Chloe was holding her own--and then the sound of a gunshot cut through the chaos, followed by the unmistakable sound of Chloe’s cry of pain. Lucifer froze.

The click of a switch. He squinted in the sudden light from a bare bulb swinging from the ceiling.

Chloe was still standing white-faced and clutching her shoulder. Blood seeped between her fingers. A tall thin man stood behind her, holding her gun under her chin.

“Detective!” Lucifer started toward her.

“I wouldn’t do that.” 

Lucifer whirled to face the speaker, a neatly coiffed blond man in a preacher’s collar, holding another gun trained on Chloe. “I won’t miss next time,” he said, glancing at Lucifer and then back to Chloe. He inclined his head toward the man holding her gun. “And William certainly won’t.”

Lucifer followed his gaze back to Chloe, his fists clenching at his sides. “It’s fine,” she gritted. She raised her chin defiantly. “It’s just a graze.” 

A deep one, judging by the amount of blood soaking her sleeve already. Lucifer clamped down on his fear and bared his teeth at the blond man. “You must be Shepherd.” He was younger than Lucifer had expected.

“And you’re the Devil.” He looked at Chloe and his smile widened, turned hungry. “And his whore.”

A growl rose in Lucifer’s throat. His gaze flicked around the room. He could take all of Shepherd’s goons, easily--but with the gun under Chloe’s chin, he didn’t dare. She would be dead before he could reach her.

“What do you want?” Chloe demanded.

“You, my dear.” Shepherd smiled. “And your paramour. I’ve been tasked with sending the two of you where you belong.”

“Tasked?” Chloe repeated. “By who?”

“The angel who set me on the path to righteousness.”

Lucifer forgot the danger in his sudden flash of rage. He crossed the room and grabbed the man by the throat, slamming him against the wall. Behind him, he was aware of Chloe struggling with her captor again.

“_Who?_” he growled, his eyes flashing red. His vision narrowed.

He made no attempt to struggle. “He never gave me a name.” _He_. That narrowed the field by half, but brought him no closer to the answer he sought. 

He shook the man. “_Why_? What did he want?”

Shepherd’s smile turned beatific. “This world must be purified of sin. That’s what all my work has been for.”

Chloe let out another cry of pain. Lucifer released Shepherd abruptly, his hand opening instinctively at the sound. He stumbled back several paces. A wave of dizziness rolled over him as he turned to go to her. He grabbed hold of the wall to steady himself, shaking his head to clear it. 

Chloe had fallen to her knees. She dabbed at her bloody mouth with her sleeve and glared at Shepherd, ignoring the gun trained on her. “Then why kill Grace and Isaac?” she asked, her voice rough with pain. “Isn’t murder a sin?”

Shepherd got to his feet, serenely brushing himself off. “I’m cleansing the world of sinners. They abandoned their God-given spouses and fornicated with one another.” His lips tightened. “They tried to leave us to avoid their punishment.”

Lucifer snorted. The dizziness seemed to have passed, and he pushed away from the wall, trying to place himself between Shepherd and Chloe. He blinked, still trying to clear his vision. “I guarantee you, my father has nothing to do with providing spouses. He saw how well that worked out the first time. And he _certainly_ doesn’t care who fornicates with who.” He bared his teeth in a suggestive smile. “As long as everyone’s having fun.” 

“Is that the lie you tell to tempt the weak to sin?”

“_I don’t lie_,” he growled. “And you lot have discovered evils I couldn’t imagine. Humans don’t need the Devil to tempt them, even if I wanted to.”

“He said you would say that.” Shepherd watched him calmly. He seemed to be waiting for something. Lucifer frowned. The room around him felt smaller, and yet when Chloe spoke, her voice sounded far away.

“What did you do to him?” she demanded.

“‘Do to me?’” The room reeled around him. He tried to catch himself, but the heaving floor rose up to meet him. The impact drove the breath from his lungs. He lay there gasping, trying to blink the stars from his vision.

“Lucifer!” Chloe shouted. He heard another scuffle, the sound of a blow.

“What’s going on?” The words slurred on his tongue.

Shepherd walked past him, his shoes reflecting the light, and bent to pick up something that had rolled against the wall. He held up a large syringe. Lucifer gazed at it, uncomprehending.

“Ketamine,” Chloe said, and Lucifer vaguely remembered that the drug had been found in the other victims’ blood.

“Indeed.” 

Everything seemed to be happening behind a pane of frosted glass. Lucifer managed to move pushing himself to hands and knees with a colossal effort. Chloe broke free of the man holding her and ran to him. “Lucifer!” She grabbed his arm, hauling him to his knees.

He fell against her, his limbs heavy and clumsy. She shook him. “Come on, fight it, stay awake!”

He shook his head. His vision was blurring, narrowing. He tried to push her away. “Go. Run.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

He struck the floor again with jarring force as Chloe was pulled away from him. She fought wildly, kicking and biting and lashing out with fists and elbows until one of them twisted her arm behind her back and bore her down to the floor, holding her there with a knee on her back while Shepherd drove another needle into her thigh.

“How do you expect to get us out of here?” she demanded. “The whole house is full of cops.”

Shepherd crossed the room, felt around on the floor for a moment, and released a catch, revealing a trapdoor. “Oh ye of little faith,” he said, and smiled.

***

The thick plastic of a zip tie bit into Chloe’s wrists, wrenching her shoulders back painfully. Another tightened around her ankles. She struggled against the weight still holding her down, not because she had any hope of escape, but because she wasn’t about to make things easy for Shepherd. Faintly, she heard noise beyond the heavy steel door. Perhaps she could buy enough time for the backup team to break through.

The weight lifted from her back, finally, and she shifted so she could see Lucifer. He was still conscious, barely. His eyes focused on her when she said his name and his lips moved in the familiar shape of _detective_, but no sound came out, and his eyes closed again. He didn’t struggle when his arms were zip tied behind his back.

Chloe’s hip ached where Shepherd had injected her. How long did she have before the drug took effect? A few minutes? She gritted her teeth. She should have run when she had the chance. Lucifer was only vulnerable to the drug because she was near. If she had gotten far enough away, Lucifer would be able to fight his own way out.

A man grabbed him under the arms and another picked up his legs. Lucifer hung limply between them.

There was more noise coming from beyond the door now, the sound of voices and heavy pounding as they tried to break through the heavy steel. Shepherd looked up sharply at the sound.

“Quickly, now!”

Hands gripped her upper arms. Chloe’s eyes watered with the pain in her shoulders, but she tried to pull away anyway, earning her another sharp blow to the jaw before she was lifted onto another man’s shoulders. She tasted blood. 

They descended the steps below the trapdoor. Soon the light from above vanished as the last man came through. A bar slid into place with a heavy thunk, and they continued on by the light of flashlights.

They walked through the darkness for what seemed like a long time. Chloe couldn’t tell if her dizzy sense of disorientation was from being carried upside down like a sack of potatoes, the shifting beams of the flashlights, or the ketamine starting to kick in. _All three_, she thought muzzily. At least the pain in her shoulders had faded to a dull ache.

She craned her neck to try to see Lucifer. At least he was slowing them down. The men took turns carrying him in pairs, but transporting his unconscious body made the trip through the tunnels laborious. Would the drug wear off him faster, even with Chloe nearby? How much had they given him? The syringe Shepherd had picked up had been large. Larger than the one he’d injected Chloe with.

Lucifer slowed them, but not enough. Chloe strained to hear sounds of pursuit, but all she heard were the scuffling footsteps and labored breathing of the men around her. The sounds faded and ran together, and she had trouble making sense of them, even though she felt acutely that she _should_, that it was important. She rocked gently in the darkness, drifting.

A thrum under her cheek drew her back to consciousness. She lay on something hard, her ear pressed to a hollow surface. Her shoulders hurt. Her hands felt numb. She cracked heavy eyelids open, trying to make sense of the dim outlines of the space around her. Light filtered in from above, and she could make out the outline of two seats, the roundness of a wheel well in front of her. The thrumming was an engine, the wheels on the road. The sky outside was dark. Light striped through the van from streetlights as they passed. A particularly bright one illuminated Lucifer’s face before her, slack and unconsciousness. Chloe tried to reach for him, but she couldn’t move her arms.

“Lucifer?” She licked dry lips. He didn’t move. His eyes didn’t even flicker.

Up in front, the man in the passenger seat peered into the back. “I think she’s awake,” he said to the driver. 

“Shepherd said we can dose her again, but only half. He wants her awake for the ritual.”

“What about him?”

“Shouldn’t need it. Dosed him again before we loaded him up.”

Icy fear stabbed into Chloe’s belly_. Ritual_. She remembered the bodies on the beach, pentagram traced in blood on the pier, Shepherd’s cruel, hungry smile.

Adrenaline gave her a rush of clarity, and she struggled when the passenger crawled into the back of the van, but he only laughed. The needle sank into her thigh with a sharp, stinging pain. “Go back to sleep, whore,” he said. “You’ll get what you deserve soon enough.” 

Darkness overtook her once more.

A hard slap roused her. Chloe couldn’t stop the groan that escaped her throat. She let her head fall to the side and spat out blood.

She lay on a rough surface that clomped hollowly and vibrated with footsteps. Water lapped somewhere below. She tried to move, found her arms no longer bound behind her back but her limbs too heavy to lift. Her mind worked sluggishly, trying to make sense of the men’s voices around her, the dark sky above, the moon and stars shining brighter than they ever did in the city.

“It’s time,” a voice said. “Bring them.” 

Hands grasped her under her arms and dragged her several paces before setting her down again, none too gently. The back of her head hit the boards with an audible thump and stars burst across her vision. Her arm was pulled out to the side and she felt the touch of could metal on her wrist, the familiar click and grind of handcuffs fastening. She followed the sound and stared down her arm to the metal cuffs linking her hand to Lucifer’s. He lay stretched out on the wooden planks beside her, pale and unmoving in the moonlight.

“Don’t worry.” A toe prodded her roughly in the ribs, drawing another groan from her. “You’ll be together in Hell.”

“William!” The first voice said sharply. Shepherd, Chloe recognized. “Do not give in to wrath, brother. We do a sacred thing this night.”

_Sacred_. Chloe remembered the bodies washed up on the beach, handcuffed together as she and Lucifer now were, and she wanted to laugh, or cry, or shout at them. _There’s nothing sacred about murder! _But she was too heavily weighed down to move, even to speak.

Shepherd began chanting and the other voices joined, beginning as a low murmur and slowly rising in volume and intensity. A shudder ran through her, though she couldn’t understand the words. She felt as if something cold touched her, reached inside and tried to grasp her very soul.

“No!” She fought against it, pushing it away with all her might. The voices chanted louder. Wind rose, but it was more than wind, the dark energy swirling around them, its roaring more terrible than sound. She screamed, but she couldn’t expel the grasping thing. Icy fingers sank into her heart, her lungs, and she was falling, falling, through the cold and dark. The cold enveloped her, stung her eyes and her throat and her nose, and she had just time enough to wonder why she tasted salt before it overwhelmed her completely.

***

Chloe’s phone rang. 

She blinked down at it, frowning. She was standing in the middle of the precinct, in the building where they’d been temporarily relocated while the regular headquarters was renovated. This was familiar and yet--she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t supposed to be here.

The caller ID said _Trixie_ but she knew when she answered it would be Malcolm. She’d been here before. It was always Malcolm. The buzz of the precinct faded around her as she tapped the screen and answered. Blood rushed in her ears and adrenaline left a bitter taste on her tongue.

_Hey Decker. I think you have something of mine_.

_Malcolm, don’t you hurt her!_

_Mommy, I want to go home._

She got Malcolm’s getaway cash and drove white-knuckled to the hangar. She knew this wasn’t real because this had already happened. In reality, Lucifer had tried to stop her. Lucifer had followed her. Lucifer had gotten shot trying to protect her and Trixie.

There was no Lucifer in this nightmare. 

_I have to find a way to stop Malcolm. I have to find a way to get out of this_.

She thought that every time. She never did. She was stuck in her worst nightmare, watching it and living it at the same time. It surged forward, drawing her inexorably with it as she scrabbled helplessly for purchase.

At the hangar she sent Trixie to hide and gave Malcolm his money, but he had never planned to leave her alive.

He shot her twice in the stomach and left her there in a spreading pool of blood. A few moments later she heard her daughter’s scream cut off by another shot. She wanted to cry out, to weep, but she couldn’t draw breath for either. Darkness welled up.

***

Her phone was ringing.

Chloe stood in the precinct, staring at it. _Trixie_ flashed across the screen, but when she took the call, it would be Malcolm on the other end. 

This had happened a thousand times. A hundred thousand. Or maybe only five, ten, fifty. It didn’t matter. She had lost count. It was always Malcolm.

The bag of cash. The white-knuckle drive to the hangar, her daughter’s terrified face. The guarded hope that they would make it out of this alive, before the bullet tore her belly open.

The part of her that watched grew numb, while the part that lived it over and over experienced every horror as though it were new, again and again and again.

Until something changed.

The door to the hangar banged open and footsteps echoed through the space. Chloe had a moment of wild hope that Lucifer had finally come before a different, equally familiar voice said, “You know none of this is real, right?”

The speaker was tall and broad, with flecks of gray in his close cropped hair and a smug, self-assured air. Chloe stared at him, relief and incredulity and anger vying in her chest.

“Marcus,” she managed at last. Then corrected herself: “Cain.”

“Good to see you, too, Decker.” His expression softened into a smile. “Chloe.” Hearing her name on his lips made Chloe’s stomach turn.

“Mommy.” Trixie tugged at her hand, and Chloe looked down at her, the scene around her snapping back into focus. Malcolm. The gun trained on her. On her daughter. Chloe shoved Trixie behind her and tried to shield her with her body.

“She’s not _real_, Chloe,” Cain said, stepping between her and Malcolm. He waved a hand casually back at him. “Neither is he.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” she demanded. She reached behind her for Trixie, who whimpered. She _felt_ real. So did Malcolm, and so did the gun trained on her. It all _felt_ real.

But hadn’t she been here before?

Many, many times.

Cain’s smile turned sardonic. “Exactly,” he said. “Hell.”

Chloe blinked. Hell. Hell was real, she knew that, but--how did she know that? And how had she gotten here? This had happened already, and it had happened differently. She and Trixie had escaped safely. Lucifer had mysteriously survived his injuries, and it was Malcolm who had died in that hangar. 

Lucifer. That was how she knew Hell was real. Because Lucifer was the Devil. She had seen his face.

She held her hand up in front of her face, as though it could tell her something. “Am I . . . dead?”

The look on his face was answer enough, the appearance of sympathy only thinly masking his satisfaction. “Come on,” he said, and stretched out a hand.

“‘Come on’ where? How am I in Hell?” Sure, she hadn’t been perfect, but Chloe didn’t think she deserved to go to _Hell_. And _Trixie_ certainly didn’t. She held tighter to her daughter’s hand. “How did we die?” she demanded. She couldn’t be dead. Could she? Her memories felt distant, a jumble of images and emotions seen through a fog, without definition or order.

“Only you’re dead, the rest of this isn’t real. Leave her, come on.” Cain was growing impatient. He grabbed her hand this time, tugging her toward the exit to the hangar.

“Mommy!” Trixie cried, clinging to her. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not leaving you, baby.” Chloe pulled her hand out of Cain’s and dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms protectively around her. Everything else was chaos, but in all of that she knew one thing: she loved her daughter and would protect her with her life. Again and again, always.

“Decker.” Cain let out an annoyed huff. “What part of “this isn’t real” do you not understand?”

“She’s my daughter, Cain! I’m not leaving her!”

A bullet struck the concrete floor a few feet away. Chloe jumped and held Trixie closer. “I’ll kill you both, Decker!” Malcolm called.

“Then do it!” Chloe turned her head just enough to see him through her tears.

“For fuck’s sake, Decker.” Hands grasped her arms, forcibly opening her embrace and dragging her away from Trixie.

_“Mommy!” _Trixie stood there, sobbing and screaming. “Where are you going? You have to protect me!”

Chloe fought Cain, scratching and biting and kicking whatever she could reach, but he held tight, his face grim, until they were through the door.

Instead of bright daylight, they emerged into dimness. Cain released his grip and Chloe staggered away from him until she could steady herself against a wall. A dark, towering city rose above them. Lightning flickered across the sky above, illuminating the gray ash that fell softly all around. The stone against her hand felt gritty with it.

Chloe blinked, shaking her head as the fog dissipated. She held up her hand again. “I’m dead,” she said softly.

Cain scoffed. “Welcome to the club.”

She looked around, shaking her head. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

“How do you know? God works in mysterious ways.”

Chloe turned and fixed him with a glare. “Because Lucifer explained to me how this works, and I know I haven’t done anything worth going to Hell over.” She narrowed her eyes. “It was you, wasn’t it? I don’t know how, but . . .” She shook her head. “I know it was you.”

He smirked and shrugged. “What can I say? I get what I want.”

“How?” she demanded.

“How do you think your cult leader friend learned to send people to Hell?” he countered. “Who do you think told him to cleanse the world of sin by killing you and Lucifer?” 

Chloe’s blood ran cold. “But . . . why? To punish me? You hate me that much?” She was only half focused on him, instinctively keeping him talking while she tried to get her bearings. She felt a tug, somewhere behind her heart, coming from . . . above. What was it?

“I wanted you.” He noticed her looking around and said, “You can’t leave. Only angels and demons can leave.”

“You wanted _me_,” Chloe repeated flatly, finally giving him her full attention in her surprise.

He reached for her again, taking her hands and looking at her with sudden earnestness. “We can be together here. No distractions.”

For a moment, Chloe just stared at him. Then she let out an incredulous laugh. “You had me murdered and sent to Hell and you expect me to . . . to _play house with you?_”

He frowned, as though genuinely confused. “I saved you from your punishment.”

_“You brought me to Hell!”_ Chloe pulled her hands from his and strode away, following the tug she was feeling.

“There’s nowhere for you to go!” Cain ran after her and grabbed her arm, then drew back, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“What?”

“You’re soaking wet.”

Chloe looked down at herself. Her clothes clung to her skin and water squelched in her shoes. Her hair dripped against her neck.

_Chloe_. Lucifer’s voice. _Chloe. Come back, Chloe. Please._

“Lucifer?” Her shout echoed down the canyon-like street. The tug behind her heart grew stronger, until it felt like she were being stretched. She tasted salt.

_Come on, Chloe, wake up. Please. Please_.

“He’s not here!” Cain growled. He grabbed for her again, and they both watched in astonishment as his hand passed through her arm.

_Chloe, please_. 

She held her hand up in front of her face. She could see through it. “What’s happening?” she asked. And then, louder, “Lucifer?” 

_Come back, Chloe. Come back._

How long had she been dead? It felt like she’d been trapped in her nightmare forever, but maybe Hell was like a nightmare in more ways than one. Maybe it only felt like eons had passed.

Was it really Lucifer calling her? Or was this another one of Hell’s tricks?

It didn’t _feel_ like a trick. It didn’t feel like the thing that had pulled her down to Hell. That had been cold, throbbing with hatred, dark and terrifying. This felt like the opposite, warm and luminous. It felt like--love. 

_Chloe._

“Lucifer!” The pull grew stronger and she reached back. Cain lunged for her, his face a rictus. He stumbled _through _her, and darkness enveloped her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have another amazing illustration by [SwankKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swankkat/pseuds/swankkat). Stop by [her tumblr](http://swankkat.tumblr.com) and check out her other artwork!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more whump, and some comfort, with gorgeous artwork by [SwankKat](http://swankkat.tumblr.com). I'm so excited to share this chapter.

Lucifer tasted salt.

He coughed, tried to draw breath, and inhaled a mouthful of saltwater instead. He flailed, disoriented. His lungs and throat burned. Something tugged at his wrist. Finally his face broke the surface. He gasped and spat and tried to get his bearings.

It was dark, but his eyes adjusted quickly, moon- and starlight reflecting on the water around him. He floated just within sight of a pale stretch of beach. Dark woods lined it, and beyond, the faint outlines of hills and trees against the glow of city lights on the horizon.

He stared at the lights. Los Angeles? It must be. How had he gotten here?

He felt the tug at his arm again and this time he recognized the feel of cold metal around his wrist. Nausea rose with the memories of the day before--the search of the Order’s headquarters, the trap that had been laid for them in the cellar. The metallic taste of fear filled his mouth as turned his head, knowing what he would find.

Long blonde hair floating beside him. Her hand was limp and cold in his when he grasped it.

_No. No no no no no._

The handcuffs released with a thought, sinking to the sand below. He pulled her closer and rolled her onto her back. Her skin was pale, nearly the same color as the pale pink shirt she had worn that day.

“Detective?” He patted her cheek, lightly at first and then harder, trying to break through whatever drug they had given her. “Chloe? Come on, wake up.” He tried to find a pulse, first at her wrist and then at her throat, but it was only because they were both soaking wet and freezing that he couldn’t. _“Chloe!”_ His voice cracked and broke in his throat.

It took an effort to unfurl his wings and lift them both out of the water. He dropped onto the shore and knelt over her, trying and failing again to find a pulse. _No no no no._ “Chloe! Come on, Chloe.”

Bloody Cain had made him sit through that bloody first aid class when he took over as the lieutenant, and Lucifer didn’t think he’d ever have occasion to be grateful to the man but he was now, because he had more to go on than what he’d seen on TV as he tipped Chloe’s head back and tried to breathe life back into her lungs.

“I won’t let them take you from me, Chloe. Come on, come back.” He pulsed his hands against her chest and imagined her heart beating beneath them. Back and forth, breath to pulse, again and again, but no heartbeat flared to life under his hands.

“No, no no no no. Please, no. Chloe . . . please.” His voice broke and he slumped forward, resting his forehead on her shoulder.

One hand covered her heart, the other tangled in her hair. His wings were still unfurled, and they fell limp from his shoulders, resting over both of them like a blanket. Hot tears mingled with the saltwater dripping from both of them. This couldn’t be the end. She finally knew the truth, he was finally rebuilding her trust. He couldn’t lose her now.

_Chloe._

He prayed. It should only work with one of his siblings, or his father (if he cared to answer), but he did it anyway. He reached out for her, for any tenuous connection she still had to her body, to the mortal world, to him.

_Chloe. Come back, Chloe, please._

And he heard her voice. He didn’t know if it was real or his imagination, but he chose to believe it. He closed his eyes tight, tried to reach for her, to give her the path back to him.

_Please. Chloe, please. Come back._

She jerked suddenly against him. Lucifer sat up, eyes wide and wild. Chloe arched and gasped then curled into a ball, coughing up water. Lucifer helped her roll onto her side, holding her in his lap while she coughed and retched and drew in breath after gasping breath.

Alive. She was alive. He felt her pulse against his fingers as he pulled her hair away from his face.

“Lucifer?” Her voice was ragged, choked, and the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

“I’m here. I’ve got you.” He gazed down at her in wonder and relief, but it was his own hands that drew his attention. He held one up in front of his face.

It was glowing.

***  


***

Chloe’s lungs and throat and eyes burned. She gasped, throat spasming and closing around the water that came up.

Someone helped her roll onto her side and held her as she coughed up seawater. A steadying arm wrapped around her chest and a hand brushed her hair back from her face. She caught sight of a familiar ring set with a black stone.

“Lucifer?” Her voice came out weak and ragged, barely above a whisper. She coughed again.

“I’m here, I’ve got you.”

She lay there for another moment, gasping and coughing and trying to get her bearings. There were no streetlights nearby, no sound of traffic, just the gentle lapping of the waves nearby. Her skin felt gritty, sticky with sand and salt. Finally she turned her head so she could see him and reached up to touch his face. “You’re real.” It was as much a question as a statement.

“I’m real,” he affirmed, covering her hand with his. He glowed, soft white light emanating from his skin, his wings. His eyes shone golden. “You’re all right now.” He gathered her close, cradling her against his chest.

Chloe rested her head against him. He was as cold and wet as she was but reassuringly solid, and the light that enveloped her was warm, the same light and warmth that had drawn her back from Hell. It soothed her aching limbs, her stinging throat. A sudden lump grew in her throat and she closed her eyes against the tears that wanted to fall, mingled exhaustion and relief.

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, holding her closer. He shifted, grunting as he got to his feet.

“I know.” Part of her wanted to protest that she could stand, he didn’t need to carry her, but she didn’t want him to let go of her. She felt safe, enveloped in his light, and consciousness was slipping away again, this time into a gentle, restful sleep. Chloe heard a whoosh of air and was dimly aware of the sensation of flight, but mostly she was aware of Lucifer’s arms around her and a deep feeling of safety that let her drift away without fear.

***

The brightness and noise of the emergency room felt oppressive after the dark of the beach and the long flight back to the city. A nurse greeted them before he’d gotten more than a few steps through the doors, taking Chloe’s pulse, checking her eyes, asking him questions. A stretcher appeared and he laid her on it, reminded forcibly of the last time he had done this, when she had been poisoned. It felt like a lifetime ago, and just the same.

She stirred when put her down, her eyes flickering open. “Lucifer.” She reached for him.

He took her hand, keeping pace as the stretcher moved. “It’s all right, Detective. You’re in good hands.” He wished he could will away the fear in her eyes. He laid her hand on her chest and squeezed it gently, letting go just before she was pushed through the swinging doors.

He stared after her for a few moments, relief making him feel weak. She would be all right. She was alive, and she would be all right.

He hadn’t lost her.

“Sir?”

He turned to find a young man in blue scrubs staring at him with wide dark eyes.

“Yes?” Lucifer swayed, and the young man reached out to steady him. His eyes seemed to grow even larger.

“You’re an angel,” he breathed.

Lucifer scowled. “What on Earth gave you that idea?”

“I saw--” he broke off when Lucifer swayed again, taking more of his weight. “You’re hurt.”

Lucifer gritted his teeth. “I just need to sit down.”

He complied, guiding him to a bank of unoccupied plastic chairs off to the side of the waiting room. Lucifer collapsed gratefully into one of them. He felt drained, utterly spent. He looked at his hand. The glow was gone. What had it been? How had he done it?

“You need a doctor.”

Lucifer looked at the young man, still hovering. His name tag said he was a nurse. “I thought I was an angel.” He raised an eyebrow. “Miguel,” Lucifer read off the name tag. “What do you want?”

Miguel blinked, taking on the glazed, fixed expression of someone under Lucifer’s spell. “I want . . . to help. You.”

The statement nearly undid him. To help _him_. Why? Lucifer let out a breath, the tension leaving him. He slid lower in the chair. “Very well.” He rested his head back against the wall behind him, exhaustion making his eyelids heavy. “Just . . . tell me when I can see Chloe. That’s all I need.”

***

Chloe opened her eyes someplace new.

White ceiling tiles, shiny floor, buzzing fluorescent lights. The sheet felt scratchy against her cheek. She could see a square of blue sky and a collage of buildings out the window. A curtain shielded the other side of the bed, but she heard noise beyond it, voices and footsteps and the familiar cadences of hospital activity. An IV snaked from her arm, an oximeter clipped to her finger.

Lucifer was curled up awkwardly in a chair beside the bed, asleep. The sight of him was reassuring, even though he looked like he’d been through hell. His suit was rumpled and stained, his hair mussed. She could see the shadow of a bruise along his jaw, partially hidden by his beard, and another under his eye.

She reached for him, half expecting him to dissolve in front of her, but he was solid, real. His hand twitched when she touched him.

“Lucifer.” She broke into a coughing fit before she got all three syllables out. He twitched again, and opened his eyes.

“Detective!” He reached for the cup on the bedside table and held it for her, plastic straw angled for her to drink. “How are you feeling?”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist. Her hand was shaking. She stared down at it. “Is this real?” She looked back up at him.

He frowned. “Of course it’s real.” He set the cup down where she could reach it and took her hand. “Chloe?”

The sound of him saying her name—_Chloe, _not _Detective—_made her throat close. She swallowed down her sob, but couldn’t stop the tears that filled her eyes. She remembered jerking painfully back into consciousness--to _life_\--in his arms, salt and sand crusting both of them. Before that--

“How do I know? It _felt_ real there, too.”

“Chloe.” He scooted his chair closer, his concerned face filling her vision. “What happened?”

Instead of answering, she said, “I need to see Trixie.” She looked around with rising panic. “Where is she? Is she okay?” The memory of her daughter’s scream, of Malcolm’s laughter, reverberated in her mind.

“She’s fine. Daniel took her to get something to eat.” He reached for the phone on the bedside table and tapped out a message. A few seconds later a response pinged back. “They’ll be here in a few minutes.” He turned the phone so she could see, and she almost laughed. The name at the top of the message was, _Daddy_, and it took Chloe a full minute to realize she was looking at Trixie's phone. Of course, Dan would have left it so he could get in touch. Both her and Lucifer's phones were long gone.

The screen blurred in front of her. She closed her eyes. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. _Please. Please let this be real_.

“Detective.” Lucifer’s hand closed over hers. “What’s wrong?”

It took her a moment to get her voice under control enough to speak. “The day that Malcolm kidnapped Trixie.” She opened her eyes, blinking away more tears. “I kept reliving it. Except you weren’t there, and every time, he shot me and then--Trixie.” She swallowed another sob. “It just kept happening.”

Recognition replaced the confusion on Lucifer’s face, darkened to anger. “It worked,” he breathed.

She nodded. “He sent me to Hell.” She clutched his hand. “How do I know I’m not still there?”

Lucifer’s expression softened, tender and fierce at the same time. He cupped her cheek with his free hand and thumbed away a tear. “Because I’m the Devil, remember? If anyone can tell you whether you’re in Hell, it’s me.”

That actually made her chuckle, but another sob followed on its heels. She reached for him and pulled him closer, wanting more contact than just his hand on her cheek. His arms went around her and she buried her face in his shoulder. He still smelled of salt and the sea, and underneath his scent was sweetness and smoke at the same time. The feel of him grounded her, reminded her of the way he had held her on the beach, the warm glow that had surrounded him, the light and the love that had called her back from Hell.

_That_ had been real. She knew it in her bones. Hell couldn’t conceive of anything like it.

She pulled away from him as more memory came flooding back. She pulled up the sleeves of her hospital gown, felt down her sides. She should have been bruised all over, but there was nothing. Not a mark or a sore spot. She looked back at Lucifer. “I was shot.”

He frowned. “No, you drowned--” he began, but Chloe shook her head.

“Before that. The graze, on my arm.” She pulled up her sleeve again and showed him the unbroken skin.

“Oh, that.” He shifted in his seat, avoiding her gaze. “I seem to have . . . healed you.”

“But I thought . . .” she trailed off. Healed her, but not himself. Her gaze strayed to the bruise on his jaw. There was another on his temple, and she could see a cut on his forehead, just below his hairline. What other injuries couldn’t she see? Aloud she only asked, “How?”

“I don’t know.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I just . . . couldn’t let you go.” His brown eyes met hers, earnest, open in a way they rarely were. “I love you, Chloe.”

“Lucifer . . .”

“Mommy!”

Trixie pounded into the room and flung herself onto the bed, throwing her arms around Chloe’s neck. She was solid, warm, real. Beside her, she saw Lucifer sit back, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. Chloe hugged her daughter close and buried her face in her hair. She was crying again, but she didn’t care.

Trixie drew back, worry on her small face. “Mommy? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Chloe smiled through her tears. “No, baby.” She smoothed back the hair that had come loose from her ponytail around her face. “I’m just really, really happy to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you, too.”

Chloe pulled her close again.

“I was scared,” Trixie said into her neck.

Chloe closed her eyes. “I was, too.” She pulled back and smiled. “But I’m okay.” She glanced at Lucifer, who was looking on with a small smile. “I’m lucky I have a good partner to watch my back.”

Trixie followed her gaze and nodded solemnly. “I’m glad Lucifer’s your partner. It’s good to have the Devil on your side.”

Dan made a choked noise. He had come in behind Trixie and stationed himself at the foot of Chloe’s bed, conspicuously keeping his distance from Lucifer. He cleared his throat. “Lucifer’s not really the devil, honey.”

“Yes, he is,” Trixie said, at the same time as Lucifer said, indignantly,, “Yes, I am!”

Chloe stifled a laugh, but she shot Lucifer a look over Trixie’s head, trying to figure out if he had told her daughter the truth. He shrugged, which Chloe hoped meant _no_. Trixie simply had an active imagination--or was just better able to see what the adults around her didn’t want to, and less likely to be afraid.

“When can you come home?” Trixie asked.

“Soon, I hope. Let’s see what the doctor says, okay?”

“Okay.” She turned her quizzical gaze on Lucifer. “Do you need to see the doctor, too?”

“Me? No.” He grinned at her. “I’m the Devil, remember? What do I need a doctor for?”

“You’re hurt.”

“He’s stupid, is what he is,” Dan said sourly. He leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest.

“Dan,” Chloe chided.

“What? He’s here all night, he wouldn’t let a doctor touch him.”

“I’m quite all right, Daniel, though I appreciate your concern.” Lucifer flashed a flirtatious smile. “I didn’t know you cared.”

Dan scowled. “Trust me, I don’t. I just didn’t want to be responsible for you when you keeled over.”

“Mmm, I thought you wanted me on the floor?”

“Lucifer.” Chloe touched his hand. He subsided with a shrug, sitting back in his chair. “Dan.” He had opened his mouth to respond, but he closed it at her quelling look. “You said you would try, remember?”

He grumbled, but gave a grudging nod.

“Try what?” Trixie asked.

“Yes, try what, Detective?” Lucifer licked his lips. “I’d be happy to try all sorts of things with Daniel--”

“Lucifer, enough.” She shot him a sharp look. To Trixie, she said, “They’re going to try being nice to each other, Monkey.”

“I can be very nice,” Lucifer purred.

Dan scowled. “Coulda fooled me.”

Chloe sighed.

***

Mercifully, Chloe was cleared for release that afternoon, but it still took hours to take care of the paperwork, get prescriptions filled and follow up visits scheduled. It was dusk by the time they finally left, the four of them piling into Dan’s old Corolla.

Dan would have preferred to take Chloe home with Trixie and spend a quiet evening with them, take care of dinner and let Chloe rest. They weren’t married anymore, and that part of their relationship was long since over, but he still loved her. Her disappearance at the cult’s headquarters had shaken him badly. He wanted to spend some time with her, to reassure himself that she was okay.

But since Dan was the only one of them with a car--and probably the only one of them in any shape to drive--and because he was _trying_, he didn’t say anything when Lucifer folded himself into the backseat with Trixie even though Lucifer hadn’t bothered to ask if Dan would drive him. Chloe, at least, acknowledged him with a little smile.

Dan sat tense in the driver’s seat, hands at ten and two. Beside him, Chloe lay her head back and closed her eyes. Trixie looked out the window. And despite his earlier antics, Lucifer kept quiet as well.

Dan still didn’t like him, didn’t like having him in his car, didn’t like having him so close to his daughter--especially since Trixie seemed convinced that Lucifer _really was_ the devil, and Lucifer, of course, was happy to play along. Or he really believed it himself; Dan had never been able to decide.

He didn’t like Lucifer, but he hadn’t been able to muster up the hatred that had been boiling in his veins since Charlotte died, either. Not since he’d gotten to the hospital last night and found Lucifer asleep in the waiting room in the ER, looking like he’d been beaten to hell. He’d had only been able to get a jumbled version of events out of him while they waited, but he’d managed to piece together enough to know that Lucifer had saved Chloe’s life, and nearly died himself.

Knowing that, he couldn’t really hate the man, however much he wanted to.

Dan glanced at him in the rearview. He was looking out the window, seemingly lost in thought, and despite himself Dan felt a twinge of sympathy. The guy was _battered, _bruised and scraped, his hair and clothes stiff with salt. Dan had seen him fight, and he knew Lucifer could take care of himself, so the goons they’d been facing must have been either well-trained or numerous enough to overpower him.

Beside him, Chloe shifted, and he glanced at her. She gave him a wan smile and patted his arm. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Dan glanced in the rearview again at Lucifer. Of the two of them, Lucifer actually looked worse. Dan cleared his throat. “I can, uh. Drop you off at Lux, if you want.”

Lucifer looked sharply at him. “That won’t be necessary, Daniel. I--”

“No, you should,” Chloe interrupted, turning around in her seat.

There was a long pause. “Detective?” He sounded . . . wounded, almost. Surprised, dismayed.

Chloe reached for his hand. “Take a shower, get a change of clothes. Rest a little.” She gave him a meaningful look that Dan couldn’t read. “Then come over.”

“Oh.” He relaxed a little, but still looked at her uncertainly. After a moment he agreed, reluctantly. “Very well.”

***

Lucifer went straight for the bar once he got to the penthouse. Whiskey felt good, burning down his throat, washing away the taste of salt.

“Lucifer? Is that you?” Maze’s voice came from the direction of the balcony. “I’ve been calling--” She stopped short just inside the door. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Just a little demon-summoning ritual and drowning.” Lucifer poured himself another whiskey. His hands were shaking. “He did it, Maze. The bloody bastard did it.”

“Who did what?” she asked, and then, eyes widening, “That priest? Farmer?”

“Shepherd.”

“Right.” She barked an incredulous laugh. “He sent you to Hell?”

“Not me, Maze.” He set the empty glass down on the bar with a thunk. “Chloe.”

Maze stared at him, all the amusement gone from her expression. “Chloe?” She reached for the back of a chair to steady herself. Her skin had gone ashen. “Chloe’s dead?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“No,” Lucifer said quickly. “No, I--I managed to bring her back.” He looked down at his hands, though the glow that had emanated from them before was gone. “She’s alive.”

“Where is she now?”

“Daniel’s taking her home. I stopped here to . . .” He gestured to himself. “I’ll meet them there.” Though perhaps it would be better to let Chloe have some time with Daniel. She might prefer to be around humans. The Devil would no doubt be an unpleasant reminder of Hell. The thought made him ache, but it was better than causing her pain with his presence. He’d give her the night, let her rest.

He poured himself another drink. Maze came up beside him and he filled a second glass.

“Tell me everything you know about this guy.” She took the glass from him, her eyes hard. “I’ll find him.”

“Do that, Mazikeen.” A growl crept into his voice. “Because then I’m going to kill him."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny revision from the previous chapter: I somehow lost track of the fact that both Lucifer and Chloe would have lost their phones, and then I gave Lucifer his phone in the hospital. The previous chapter has been revised to make that Trixie's phone.

Chloe’s phone was ringing.

_Oh no. Not this again. Please not this._

She kept her eyes closed, willing it to stop, because she knew the moment she opened them she’d be back in the old precinct building, looking down at Trixie’s name flashing on the screen, but it would be Malcolm when she answered. _Please. No more._

There was a muffled curse, a rustle of movement, and the ringing stopped. A familiar voice answered the call, speaking softly in Spanish.

Chloe opened her eyes. She lay in her own bed, in her own room. It was dark outside. The faint white of the streetlights filtered through the curtains, and yellow light from the hall spilled through her half-open door. 

Not her phone at all. Her phone was gone, lost somewhere at the bottom of the sea. She was home, safe. Trixie was sleeping downstairs in her room. She’d put her to bed after Dan made dinner, and nearly fallen asleep beside her until Dan coaxed her upstairs to her own room.

Dan had taken the call into the hallway. The doorway darkened as he came back into the room. “Chlo?” he said softly when he saw that she was awake. “I’m sorry. I forgot the ringer was on.”

“It’s okay.” She pushed herself up on her elbow, peering around. “Is Lucifer here?”

“Not yet.” He winced, and she didn’t know if it was because of the question or his answer. She felt a little guilty, but her need to have Lucifer close by overwhelmed it. Having him near was the only thing that made her feel certain that she wouldn’t fade away and wake up again in Hell.

Dan cleared his throat. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” He didn’t sound very sure. 

Chloe looked at the clock. Only a little after midnight. “He probably fell asleep.” She bit back the disappointment, annoyance, and most acutely, the _fear_ that welled up. It had only been a few hours, but it should have been plenty of time, right? Given his reluctance to go home at all, she had expected him to be back by now. The horrible thought occurred to her that maybe he hadn’t stayed away of his own volition. Shepherd knew who he was, and it wasn’t exactly a secret where Lucifer Morningstar lived. What if he had gone to ransack his home, or simply to gloat? What if he had found Lucifer there, still injured, vulnerable?

Her fear must have shown on her face, because Dan said, “I’ll call him.”

Chloe managed a tremulous smile. “Thanks. I’m sorry,” she added.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Chlo,” he said, and stepped out into the hallway. A few minutes later he came back into the room, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “He’s on his way.”

Chloe fell back against her pillows, relief making her feel weak and trembly. She closed her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m here for you, Chloe. You know that.”

She opened her eyes again and smiled up at him. “I do know that.” She let him take her hand and squeezed his in return. 

“Do you want me to sit with you?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be okay. Just--send Lucifer up when he gets here?”

“Of course.”

***

“Mr. Morningstar?”

Someone was shaking his shoulder. Lucifer opened his eyes and frowned groggily at the owner of the voice in the dim light of the penthouse. Camille, one of the new managers he’d hired to replace Maze, stood over him, holding out a phone. He blinked at it, trying to get his bearings. “Hmmph?”

“Sorry to wake you, sir,” she said briskly. She proffered the phone again. “He insisted. He said to tell you it’s Dan, and he’s calling about Chloe.”

A surge of panic brought him fully awake. He sat up, his heart poinding, and snatched the phone from her. “Daniel? What is it? Is the Detective all right?”

“What the hell, man?” Dan demanded in response. “She said take a shower and come over. What’d you do, stop for an orgy?”

He blinked, taken aback by Dan’s anger. “What?”

Dan made an exasperated noise. “Get the hell over here. Chloe needs you.”

“What’s wrong with the Detective? What’s happened?” he asked again. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, trying to ignore his trembling. 

“You’re not here, asshole!”

“But she’s all right?”

“She’s having nightmares and she’s asking for you.”

Lucifer let out a breath. Nightmares. Of course she was having nightmares. She’d been to Hell, after all. He’d thought she’d be better off without him there to remind her, but apparently he’d been all wrong. Perhaps no real surprise; Dan certainly wouldn’t think so. 

“I thought--” he began, and then shook his head. He didn’t owe Daniel any explanations, and besides, what could he say? _I didn’t think she’d want the Devil beside her as she recovers from a trip to Hell. _So he had stayed away, even though he ached to be near her. And now here she was, asking for him, and he wasn’t there. “I’m coming over,” he said instead. “I’ll be there soon.” 

“Good. Hurry up.” Dan hung up the phone.

Lucifer sat there and looked at it for a moment. He wasn’t sure what to make of Daniel these last few days. He’d made no secret that he blamed Lucifer for Charlotte’s death, and didn’t believe anything good of him. Lucifer assumed he’d talked to him at the hospital only because Lucifer was the only other witness to the crime that had nearly killed Chloe, but in the car he’d seemed almost . . . _concerned_, when he’d offered to take Lucifer back to Lux. And then here he was, assuming the worst yet again, as if Lucifer would do anything that didn’t have Chloe’s best interests at heart. As if he _could_.

“Mr. Morningstar?”

He shook himself. “Yes. Thank you, Camille.” He handed the phone back to her and waved vaguely toward the elevator as he got out of bed. “You can go.” 

He caught her sweeping her gaze over him as she turned to go, but he didn’t bother to preen, just pawed through the nearest drawer int he closet for something to wear. The Corvette was still parked at the precinct, so he walked out onto the balcony and spread his wings. It would be faster to fly, anyway, tired as he still was. He stepped up to the edge and leapt.

The city lay quiet below him. Cool air ruffled his hair and feathers, slid over his skin, and even in his agitation, he couldn’t deny the pleasure of flight. He’d have to take Chloe flying, when she was feeling better and awake to enjoy it. He touched down in the driveway of the small apartment complex, the pavement cold on his bare feet. 

Dan was sitting on the couch when Lucifer opened the door. He glowered at him when he came in. “At least you were quick about it,” he began, and then he got a good look at Lucifer and just stared.

For a moment Lucifer thought he had neglected to fold his wings away, but no--their span would have made it difficult to fit through the door. He looked down at himself. He had put on the first thing that came to hand, which happened to be a set of pajamas Miss Lopez had given him for Christmas the year before. 

Dan gaze traveled from Lucifer’s windblown hair to his bare feet. “I really don’t get it,” he said.

Lucifer let out a rueful laugh. “Honestly, Daniel, I’m not sure I do, either.”

“Whatever.” He waved a hand toward the staircase. “She said to come up when you got here. Don’t keep her waiting.”

***

After Dan left, Chloe curled up under the covers and tried to go back to sleep. It should have been easy; she was exhausted, and she was safe in her own bed. But every time she started to doze a noise jerked her awake, or she found herself drifting into memories of Hell, of Cain and Malcolm and Trixie’s scream; or of Shepherd standing over Lucifer as he collapsed and she struggled helplessly against the men who wrestled her to the floor; or some amalgamation of the two, Malcolm and Shepherd’s laughter at chilling counterpoint.

She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the room around her, remembering an exercise she had learned from the therapist she saw the first time she’d been shot, to help ground her in the present.

_Three things you can see. _The chair with her jacket thrown carelessly over it. A pair of shoes on the floor. The slice of the landing and bannister visible through her half-open door.

_Three things you can smell. _Fabric softener from the sheets. The lingering scent of shampoo in her hair. A whiff of eucalyptus from the dried branches in a vase on her dresser.

It helped, a little. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. _This is real_. 

_Three things you can feel. _The weight of the comforter over her. The soft bulk of her pillow under her head. The cool smoothness of the sheet against her skin.

_Three things you can hear._ The rustle of the tree outside her window. The soft tread of footsteps on the stairs.

Lucifer’s voice saying, softly, “Detective?”

Tears pricked Chloe’s eyes and she squeezed them shut, her throat closing. The tears fell anyway, hot and fast, dampening her pillow. She drew breath and a wordless sob tore out of her.

“Detective.” The mattress shifted under his weight. His hands hovered in the air for a moment, as if unsure what he should do, and then he dropped one to her shoulder, his touch light, hesitant. “What can I do?”

She gulped a breath down, trying to get her voice under control enough to speak. “Just--” She swallowed another sob. “Just hold me?” 

“Of course.” 

She dissolved again, shaking, exhaustion and fear and relief at having him near. The mattress shifted again and he slid beneath the blankets, fitting himself against her back. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. “Of course,” he repeated. “Chloe, of course. I’m here.”

Another sob racked her body. “I’m so afraid,” she whispered. “I’m so afraid I’m going to wake up back there.”

His arm tightened around her. He pressed his cheek to her hair. “You never will,” he said fiercely. His breath whispered over her skin. “I swear it, Chloe. Never again.”

She closed her eyes, clinging to his arm, pressing back into him. “Why didn’t you come back?” Her voice was ragged, plaintive, and she hated how pathetic she sounded.

She heard his sharp intake of breath. “I thought--” He broke off. “I thought you would prefer Daniel.”

She blinked, so surprised her chest loosened enough to let her breathe. She turned over in his arms and frowned up at him. “Why?”

He lifted one shoulder in a sheepish shrug. “You’d been to Hell. I didn’t think you wanted the Devil around.”

She actually laughed. It was half a sob, but a real laugh, for all that. “Lucifer.” She gave his shoulder a little shove, though not hard enough to push him away, and then curled up against him and lay her head in the hollow of his shoulder. “You’re very stupid.”

He rested his chin on the top of her head. “I know.” His throat vibrated against her cheek. She turned her head and pressed her lips to the soft skin. He stilled. “Detective?”

She tilted her head up and silenced him with a kiss--soft, just wanting the touch and taste of his lips, nothing more. He responded in kind, not demanding anything more than she offered. His hand came up to cup her cheek and she leaned into it. He was warmth and safety, chasing away her fear that she would fade away from the world.

He looked at her questioningly when she pulled away, and for a moment she hesitated. It would be good to be with him, skin to skin and to have him inside her, all his love and his fierceness--but not like this. Not when she felt so fragile she thought she might break. 

“Just hold me,” she said again.

“Of course.” His arms came around her as she settled back against his chest and he held her tight. “Anything, Chloe.”

“Will you . . .” She licked her lips, hesitating, a little embarrassed. 

He waited a moment. “What?”

“Will you hold me . . . with your wings?” 

He didn’t answer right away, and for a moment she thought he would withdraw, say no. She knew they were complicated for him, but-- He had sheltered her with them before, and she yearned to see them again, feel their light and their warmth.

After a moment he let out a breath and his body relaxed against hers. “All right.”

She helped him push the comforter down to their feet and he unfurled his wings slowly, carefully in the small room. His left wing, the side he was lying on, stayed folded tight against his body. His right he draped over both of them. Chloe sighed as its weight settled over her.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Chloe.” 

She carded her fingers through the feathers on the underside of his wing. They no longer glowed like they had on the beach, but they still shone with a soft inner light. “I heard you,” she said after a moment.

“Heard me?”

“Calling me. When I was in Hell. Telling me to come back.”

He made a bemused sound. “I didn’t know if it would work. I was praying, the way I would to contact Amenadiel, or another of my siblings.”

“I heard you,” she said again. “And I felt a . . . a pull.”

He hesitated. His arms tightened around her. “Were you afraid?”

She shook her head. “Not of that. I knew it was you.” She continued stroking the feathers, and he let out a hum of contentment. She wondered when someone had touched him like this last, not just his wings but simple touch, without demand or expectation. _A long time,_ she thought. A longer time than she could comprehend.

He stroked her arm in a parallel gesture, soothing, until he found her hand and clasped it in his, twining their fingers loosely together. “Go to sleep, Detective,” he murmured against her hair. “Rest. You’re safe. I’m here.”

***

Chloe’s breath deepened and lengthened. Lucifer pressed his lips to her hair, breathing in her scent. His lips still tingled where she had kissed him. 

It was a strange sort of grace that his presence could be reassuring rather than frightening. No matter how many times she told him she wasn’t afraid of him, he hadn’t really believed it until tonight, until she asked him for the very thing he most wanted: simply to be close to her, to remind her of how strong she was, and how loved. How much _he_ loved her.

She had heard him calling, felt him reaching out to her even in Hell--of course, he’d thought she was in Heaven, or just outside. It shouldn’t have worked, and yet . . . He looked down at his hand, still twined with Chloe’s, and not glowing any more than hers was. It seemed Amenadiel was more right than even he realized.

He shifted, adjusting his wings so he could lay more comfortably. After so long without them, and then hiding them away, trying to deny their existence, it felt strange to have them out. He’d hated them for so long, but since the day he’d used them to shield Chloe from a hail of gunfire, something had changed. He’d avoided thinking too much about them, not sure what it was or what it meant, but something had changed again tonight when Chloe asked him to hold her, and touched them with such affection. They’d always been a symbol of the past, of what he’d lost, of what he hadn’t been able to be, but now . . .

Perhaps they meant something about the present and the future, too. He looked down at Chloe, sleeping peacefully, curled against his chest.

Perhaps they meant something good.

He let his eyes drift closed, the slow rise and fall of Chloe’s chest lulling him. Sometime later, the shuffling of small feet roused him and he opened his eyes to see Beatrice standing in the doorway, a stuffed toy clutched under one arm. She was staring, eyes round, her mouth slightly open. He picked up his head, careful not to disturb Chloe.

“Child?” he asked in a low voice.

“I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep.” She came closer, reached out, and touched the enormous wing sheltering her mother. A wondering smile touched her lips. “You’re really real,” she whispered.

He watched her carefully, but her manner was more of wonder than terror. “Yes.” 

She stroked the white feathers a few more times, and then climbed up on the bed and snuggled in beside Chloe. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I won’t tell.”

He blinked, nonplussed at her calm acceptance. “I . . . thank you.”

“You’re welcome. They’re pretty,” she added, reaching up to touch the white feathers again. And then she closed her eyes and seemed to fall asleep instantly. Chloe stirred, but didn’t wake.

Lucifer adjusted his wing so it sheltered them both and rested his head on the pillow, watching them both sleep.

Something good, indeed.

***

Chloe woke from a deep, dreamless sleep feeling warm, safe. Lucifer lay stretched out beside her, still holding her close, and sometime in the night Trixie had crawled into bed and cuddled up on her other side. Lucifer’s wing lay over both of them. He had rolled onto his belly, and his other wing trailed off the bed and onto the floor.

Chloe’s mind stuck on these details. Lucifer’s wings were out. _Trixie had seen them_.

Oh, God. Or, maybe not. Should she say that anymore? Lucifer would object, no doubt. 

Perhaps sensing her tension, both of her companions stirred. Lucifer sighed, not quite waking. Trixie stretched and smiled sleepily up at her.

“Hi, Mommy.”

“Hey, Monkey,” she replied cautiously. She had prepared herself for a great many parenting scenarios, but explaining the existence of celestials to her daughter was _not _among the awkward conversations she had anticipated. 

Trixie, at least, seemed completely at ease. She smiled and reached up to touch the white feathers. “Aren’t they pretty?” she asked.

Chloe let out a little surprised laugh. “Yeah, baby. They are.” Certainly, Trixie seeing Lucifer’s _wings_ was a far better scenario than the alternative. She relaxed a little.

Trixie’s smile grew into a grin. “Hi, Lucifer!” 

Chloe turned to see him blinking awake. “Hm?”

“Do you have a scary face like Maze, too?”

_“What?”_ Chloe demanded, alarmed. 

Lucifer sat up, fully awake now, and flapping to keep his balance. “Mazikeen showed you her face?” he asked sharply. Chloe was relieved that he at least seemed to be treating the situation with appropriate seriousness.

“When?” Chloe added. And . . . _what?_ What did Maze’s demon face look like?

Trixie crossed her legs and sat Miss Alien in her lap. “Last Halloween, when she went trick-or-treating with me. She said it was a mask, but . . .” She shrugged, as if to say, _duh, I know better_.

Last _year_. Chloe looked at Lucifer. He seemed as disconcerted as she was. “Well,” she said at last, a little faintly. “You’ve shown you can keep a secret.”

Trixie grinned and looked up at Lucifer again. “So? Do you have a scary face, too?”

“Erm . . . yes,” he admitted.

“Cool!” Her eyes lit and she practically bounced on the mattress. “Can I see?”

“I don’t think so,” Chloe said quickly. 

“Aw.” Trixie’s face fell, but Lucifer’s relief was palpable. Chloe reached back and found his hand.

“Is your dad still here?” Chloe asked Trixie.

She nodded. “He’s sleeping on the couch.”

“Go help him with some breakfast. We’ll come down in a minute, okay?”

Grumbling, Trixie scooted to the edge of the bed.

“Trix.” Chloe caught her shoulder before she slid off. She turned. “This is a really important secret, okay? It’s Lucifer’s choice who he wants to tell.”

“I tell everyone,” Lucifer pointed out.

Chloe smiled. “Who he wants to _show_,” she amended.

“I know, Mom,” Trixie said solemnly. “I won’t tell. Promise.” She gave Lucifer’s wings a last wistful look before she slid off the bed.

“How are you feeling?” Lucifer asked, once Trixie’s footsteps had retreated down the steps.

“Better.” She reached up to touch his wing, card her fingers through the downy feathers on the underside. They really were irresistible to touch. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” His hand closed over hers, warm and gentle. “Anything for you, Detective. I mean that.”

“I know.” She reached up and touched his face with her other hand. His bruises had faded, but hadn’t had time to fully heal. She took a deep breath. “About what you said, at the hospital--”

“It’s all right, Detective.” He tried to look away, but she lifted her other hand and didn’t let him.

“I know,” she said again. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

He looked at her blankly. “What?”

“I didn’t get a chance to say it.” She smiled. “I love you, too.”

“You do?” The question was so innocent, so uncertain, it squeezed her heart in her chest, and she hated whoever, whatever had taught him he wasn’t worthy of love, or forgiveness, or second chances.

“For a long time, now. I just didn’t realize it right away.”

A smile bloomed on his face. She leaned in and kissed him, more aggressively than she had last night, enough to leave him with a slightly dazed expression when she pulled back. She grinned. A great many people had given _him_ that look after a kiss; she didn’t think he had worn it very often.

Imagine all the other things she could do to put that look on his face.

Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because heat flared in his expression and he licked his lips. “Detective.” His voice was low, throaty. It made her heart speed up in anticipation.

“Not now,” she said quickly, pulling away. She gave herself a shake. “Unless you want Dan or Trixie walking in on us.” He blanched, and she grinned at the look of horror on his face. “I didn’t think so. Besides, I’m hungry. We should go downstairs before Dan lets Trixie burn the house down making pancakes or something.”

He cleared his throat. “Of course.” He got out on the other side of the bed. Despite how carefully he moved, he nearly knocked over the lamp on the bedside table with one wing got the other tangled in the curtain.

Chloe couldn’t help it; she giggled. The sight of him standing there, swearing as he tried to navigate the small space with a twelve foot wingspan, and--

“What are you wearing?”

He looked down at himself. “They were a gift from Miss Lopez,” he said stiffly, and tugged the hem of his shirt. The pajamas were a matched set, black with red devils dancing all over them. Not the silk he would have chosen for himself, but a soft jersey that resisted any straightening.

Chloe burst out laughing. It felt good, to laugh like that. He scowled, which only made her laugh harder. She doubled over, holding onto the edge of the bed to steady herself.

“Are you quite finished, Detective?”

She looked up. He had folded his wings away and stood with his arms crossed. He looked only a little less ridiculous. She caught her breath, nodded, and then dissolved into laughter again. “No.” She sat down on the edge of the bed. 

Lucifer glowered for another moment before he gave in to a smile. “They were the first thing that came to hand,” he admitted. “Daniel said to hurry.”

“I’m glad you did.” She finally got herself under control and stood, reaching for his hand. “Come on. Let’s go downstairs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been reading! The next chapter will probably be up in about 2 weeks. :)


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